Second to None
by militaryhistory
Summary: "On the Gallian Front" should have been called "My Time with Squad Seven." What were the other troops in the 3rd Militia doing during those battles? Simple: dealing with all the Imperial soldiers Welkin Gunther wasn't killing. Rated T for violence, mild references to sexual themes, and mild language. Complete.
1. The Fall of the Citadel

_That it was Welkin Gunther and Squad Seven of the Third Gallian Militia who saved Gallia, both from Imperial invasion and Federation treachery, is undeniable, and they have been justly praised for it. But there were many others who fought for an independent Gallia during the Second Europan War._

 _Some stories have been told. Squads One and Three, who fell at the Barious desert before the Imperial Valkyria, Selvaria Bles. Squads Five and Nine, who were slaughtered by the Valkof. The Gallian army, which bled and died at Citadel Ghirlandaio, Fouzen, and a dozen other battles before its destruction at the Naggiar Plain and the Ghirlandaio Catastrophe._

 _But there were other squads as well. Soldiers who fought as valiantly as the Sevens, but, instead of winning the battles, allowed the Sevens time to win. This is the untold story of one of those units. For while Squad Seven was Captain Eleanor Varrot's sword, it was Squad Two that was Varrot's shield..._

Excerpted with permission from _Varrot's Shield: Squad Two of the Third Militia;_ Alain Gagnon; Randgriz Military Press; 1950

Heinrich Lannes hummed to himself as he walked to work down Ghirlandaio town's main street. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and it was the end of the workweek.

It wasn't that he disliked working for Marcus Vredefort—the pay was good, the work was stimulating, his coworkers were team players, and Vredefort wasn't the sort of boss who never forgot a mistake and never remembered good work. But he himself was restless, and with any luck a good long walk once he was done for the day would take the edge off.

He was worried that it wouldn't, though. Everyone in Ghirlandaio town was on edge these days, with the war going on. He hadn't yet learned to walk when the last war ended, but everyone knew how it had begun, and the current circumstances were very similar.

He shook his head. It was a lovely day out, and here he was getting himself upset over something he couldn't change or fix. The accounts, on the other hand, he could fix, and he'd come in early this morning, as was his custom, to go over the week's books.

He opened the door under the sign marked "Vredefort Import & Export" and was surprised to see someone else already looking over a ledger in the outer office, although he wasn't surprised to see that it was Julia Firenze. One of the other new clerks, she had a kind of cheerful conscientiousness that would have been irritating if it hadn't been so infectious, and as she looked up at him and smiled, he felt himself doing so as well.

"Good morning, Heinrich," she chirped. "Isn't it a lovely day?"

"It looks like it will be," he replied, "assuming a storm doesn't come up in the afternoon."

"It's not supposed to, but I suppose it might," she allowed. "So what are you doing this afternoon that brings you in here so early?"

That was another thing about Julia. For some reason, she'd ask questions that really weren't her business to ask and you didn't mind.

"I'm going to walk until I can't see the town, find a tree, sit under it, and do nothing for a few hours." He eyed her quizzically. "And, if I may ask, what brings _you_ here so early? I'm usually the first one here besides the boss, Fridays."

"Well…" she began as she tucked a wisp of stray light brown hair behind her ear, paused, then continued, "I was hoping to take an afternoon walk myself."

"Really?" he said curiously.

"Well, I've noticed that you always seem relaxed after you do it, and I've been feeling anxious lately. I thought I might try it."

Heinrich shrugged. "You never know until you try. But," he grinned, "neither of us is going to get that walk in if we keep talking."

"That's so," Julia replied, and looked back down at the ledger.

He went over to his desk, settled himself down, opened the weekly import/export ledgers for the previous week and that same week the year before, and began to compare the numbers for the weekly report, only occasionally looking up to acknowledge the others as they came in.

It was as he expected, given the previous weeks, and it troubled him. Exports to the Imperials were falling, which made sense—the war was costing the empire millions of ducats per day. What did not make sense, however, was that imports from the Imperials were plummeting like a porcavian that tried to fly. It made sense that they would decline, but it had been a slow-but-steady drop ever since the war started. Over the past few weeks, however, imports had dropped by ninety percent, and the reasons being offered for it were flimsy.

Admittedly, he was not a veteran of the import/export business—he was only twenty-four, after all—but judging from Vredefort's reaction and what he'd learned at the university about international business, you did _not_ offer reasons for so blatantly violating contracts that included the phrase "unavoidable difficulties" without any sort of further explanation.

And, based on the results he'd just gotten, it was still happening.

He got up and went over to his boss' door to knock on it, but before he could do so, he heard Vredefort's gravelly voice say "Come in, and shut the door behind you."

So he did.

"Sit down," Vredefort said. "This could take some time."

"Sir?" Lannes replied as he sat in one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the cluttered desk.

"You've been over the books, I take it."

"Yes, sir."

"And they tell you what they told me, eh?"

"Yes, sir. The Imperials are still cutting off nearly all exports, at a rate ten times that of their cutting of imports."

"I'm glad I'm not the only one." Vredefort steepled his hands. "Here's what you're going to do, Lannes. First, give these envelopes," he pointed to a sheaf on the desk, "to their intended recipients. Then…"

The room shook as a series of booms sounded from the direction of the citadel.

Vredefort cursed, then snarled, "Well, that's torn it. Didn't think the Imps had it in 'em to move this fast."

"Is it war, sir?" Lannes asked, his heart beating faster than in the aftermath of town watch training.

"Bet your bottom dollar it is. You're part of the watch, aren't you?"

"Part-time, sir."

"Best you go, then. And take anything that's light and you can't bear to leave."

"Can do, sir," Lannes said as he got up to leave.

"Oh, and one more thing," Vredefort added as Lannes opened the door.

"Sir?"

"Be careful out there. We'll need men like you after the war. And don't shut the door, I'm coming out of here."

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir," Lannes said, and started walking briskly for the front door. The others had gotten up from their desks and were looking out the window as the explosions continued on.

"Heinrich!" he heard Julia call.

He paused for a split second, then continued walking as he said, "Can't talk now, Julia. Have to get to the muster point."

"Is this war, Heinrich?"

He turned to look at her. There had been some trepidation in that question, and as he looked at her he could see fear in her brown eyes—but there was also determination there, and he felt hers strengthen his.

"I'm afraid so. The town watch will do what we can, as the garrison is doing, but the town will probably be occupied soon. Get ready to go now. Valkyrur protect you all." He looked about the room at the others, who nodded solemnly.

"And you," Julia said softly, and Lannes nodded, opened the door, bounded down the steps and began to run for his rooms. As he did so, he wondered why he'd reacted as he had to her. But there was no time for that now.

He arrived at the muster point, rifle in hand and pack on his back, out of breath, and not first but not last. He was relieved to see that he was not unlike his fellow watchmen in being out of breath, as all of them looked like they'd run all the way there.

He looked around for his team. _Where is Kelse?_

"Heinrich! Get over here!" his team leader shouted, and he managed to jog over to where she waited, along with half-a-dozen other men and women. He looked at them for a second as he came to a halt. Georg Seaworth, lean and tired-looking, who worked in the bookshop. Emm Todt, who owned the fruit stand three blocks from his rooms and bore an unnatural uncheerful look on her face. Claude Jaeger, who brought in venison for the local butchers in his off hours and looked far too enthused about current events. Willem Egmond, son of the biggest banker in town, who clearly did not want to be here but was anyway. Adrienne Holmborn, who was barely out of school and looked like she was ready to kill anything in feldgrau. Freidrich, who didn't talk much and worked in the local autoshop. And, finally, Sergeant Kelse Winter, who'd been in the last war and looked like she was about to cut off her own arm without anesthetic.

As the artillery blasted in the distance, she nodded to him. "Good to see you, Corporal," she said. "Don't think you'll get to stay here long, though."

Lannes startled. "Pardon?"

Winter laughed. "You did a good job hiding it, Corporal, but I know your track at university was command. Captain Bytern told me. Which is why it's good that you're here, he's got a job for you."

"What sort of job?"

"We've got no communications with the citadel. Captain wants some kind of warning that the Imps are coming in 'sides stragglers. Since we're all scouts and we had you, he assigned us the job."

"Who else am I taking with me?"

"You're going to take Georg, Willem, Adrienne, and Friedrich up the road 'til you can see the citadel. Then, you know the drill."

"When the enemy breaks through and begins to move forward, get back and report. Understood." He paused. "If I may ask, Sergeant, isn't Captain Bytern concerned about taking out half your team?"

Winter laughed. "Naw. We'll be coming up the road a bit soon as the rest get here. Now get moving, and make sure to draw some rations before you leave."

"Yes, Sergeant," Lannes replied, and turned to the others. "Let's go then."

They jogged along the highway, keeping careful watch as they did so. They didn't have time for proper combat maneuvering, and Lannes fretted whenever they came near a hiding spot. Fortunately, the Empire hadn't infiltrated anyone in yet.

However, that wasn't what was really worrying him. What _was_ worrying him was the slowly increasing trickle of withdrawing soldiers. At first, the only unwounded men had been ambulance drivers, the first of which they'd run into almost as soon as they left the town. But now there were unwounded men, some with their weapons and some without, walking down the road, heads hanging and refusing to acknowledge the militiamen as they passed.

That did not say good things about the defense of the citadel, but at least the guns were still firing. When those stopped…but there it was, the last of the hills before all of Citadel Ghirlandaio was in sight. "Almost there," he said.

Willem wheezed from behind, "Good."

Lannes glanced behind, as he had every few minutes, to make sure everyone was keeping up. So far, they were, although Willem looked like he was regretting missing the last couple of long-distance runs. Not entirely his fault, since he'd been taking the banking examinations, but he really should have kept in practice.

When they crested the rise, they all paused, standing on the sides of the road, and Lannes had to take a second to make sure that his jaw wasn't hanging open.

Even from this distance, which he estimated as being about four kilometers, it was obvious that Citadel Ghirlandaio was being pummelled. Just from where he could see, the there was some kind of massive war machine firing into the fortress, the road was clogged with ambulances and stragglers, and it looked like the defenders were focused on holding what they held. He pulled out his binoculars to get a closer look, and cursed under his. The Imperials already had a lodgement on the wall.

"The Citadel's falling," he said flatly, and turned to his group. "Georg, Adrienne," he said, then repeated himself more loudly when they didn't respond.

Their heads snapped towards him nearly simultaneously. "Sorry, Corp," Seaworth said sheepishly, "it's just, well—"

"I know. But we have a job to do, and you two have the best endurance out of all of us. Get back quickly. Tell the captain or Sergeant Winter that Imps have a foothold on the Citadel, and it looks like it's going to fall sooner or later."

"What about you, Willem, and Friedrich, Corporal?" Holmborn asked, and Lannes grimaced. "Someone has to stay here so we can report when Citadel Ghirlandaio actually falls. That person is me. Now get going. Judging from that," he pointed to the foundering wreck of a defense in front of them, "the best we can hope to do is delay them, but they will run right over the watch without noticing if we wait until they push through the citadel to send warning. Now _go_."

As Georg and Adrienne took off down the hill, Egmond turned to Lannes. "Ah, Corporal, how long do you, ah, intend to say here," he wheezed out between huffs and puffs.

"Not long, Willem," Lannes said, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. "But we are definitely not leaving until the first Imperial tank comes through that gate."

Surprisingly enough, however, the Imps didn't keep pushing. Instead, they stopped. Gallian wounded moved past all night, and though they tried to go to a rotating sleep schedule, one up two down, the noise kept them from getting any sleep.

The next day, nothing happened until evening, when the Imps suddenly launched some kind of attack. Lannes couldn't tell what was going on, even with the binoculars, but he figured out what was happening pretty quickly when the gates opened and the surviving Gallian troops stumbled out of the Citadel as fast as they could. He braced himself, waiting to give the order to withdraw, but again, the Imps didn't take advantage of the Gallian forces' disarray as they desperately patched together a defense in the secondary fortifications, which no one believed would ever be used.

Then, the next day, the Imps emerged from the fortress, something happened that Lannes didn't quite understand, and the surviving Gallian forces cracked like an egg. The Imperial artillery couldn't strike the hill, but it could strike most of the ground between the hill and the citadel, and Imperial flags were beginning to appear on the secondary defenses within an hour of the assault. Fleeing Gallian soldiers were disappearing in gouts of smoke and flame, and it was obvious that it was an utter rout.

The first Imperial tank came through the defenses as the last Gallians reached the bottom of the hill, and Lannes took out his binoculars to get a better look at it. It was one of the light models, and its movement seemed tentative to Lannes, like it wasn't sure if it would explode if it went any further. But it went further, and did not explode, and soon it was followed by three more of its brethren, a medium tank, and a company of infantry. They began moving forward the moment the last infantryman came through, and Lannes suddenly noticed that they were alone on the hill.

"Corporal," Friedrich said. "This area seems unhealthy to be in."

"Right, Friedrich." Lannes shook himself. "We've stayed too long. Let's get out of here."

And so they did. As they jogged back down the hill, Lannes noticed Egmond had apparently caught his second wind, which was good, because he couldn't leave the man behind but he didn't want to die and fail the mission either.

The first shells began to dig into the top of the hill thirty seconds after they began heading up the next one. He hadn't realized that they would be so loud, and he winced as he ran more swiftly than he had been.

Ten minutes and a kilometer later, as they came up on what Lannes had figured would be a good defensive position, he stopped and raised his hand to halt Egmond and Friedrich as two men stepped out into the road and leveled rifles at them. They were wearing watch uniforms, but their faces were obscured in the shadow of the sun, so he couldn't tell who they were.

"Halt and identify yourselves," the one on the right said, only for the other one to laugh.

"Don't be daft, man," he said with a grin, and Lannes knew who he was on the instant.

"Sergeant MacDonnell?" he said.

The man laughed. "Aye, and it's good to see you too, Corporal. Captain and Sergeant Winter were getting worried, now. Me, I figure you were born to hang." His expression turned serious. "Last stragglers came through two minutes ago. Anyone behind ye?"

Lannes shook his head. "There's only a company of Imperial infantry and some tanks. They're probably thirty minutes behind us."

MacDonnell cursed. "Infantry's one thing, but tanks? We've only the two lancers, and nowt but five rounds between them."

"Sergeant…" the other man said, and Lannes realized that he recognized him. John Kolchak, one of the full-time watchmen.

"Right." MacDonnell looked the trio up and down, then nodded. "Get yourselves back on to the Captain."

"Yes, Sergeant," Lannes replied, and he moved on up the hill, the other two following him closely. As they moved up, Lannes began to make out men and women positioned behind trees, rocks, and a few sandbags, and cursed the lack of entrenching tools.

They reached the crest of the hill and immediately saw the command post just behind the ridgeline. The captain was there, along with the three lieutenants—Hardwick, Tippelskirch, and Quiot—and Lannes immediately felt himself stiffen to attention while hoping that Friedrich and Egmond would do the same, saluted, and crisply announced himself. "Corporal Heinrich Lannes and detachment reporting for duty, Captain!"

Bytern returned the salute. "At ease, Corporal. Good work, sending Seaworth and Holmborn back. If you hadn't sent them back we never would have known that the Imperials had gotten a foothold on the Citadel. You gave us enough time to dig in here and start work on setting up some surprises in Ghirlandaio."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now, what did you see back there?"

"The Citadel's fallen, sir. When we left, the Imperials were sending a company of infantry and a light tank platoon our way. I don't know when or if they'll be here, but it looked like they were moving quickly."

Bytern grunted. "Great." He looked at Tippelskirch. "You're in the center, so you'll have Sonlas and Jaeger." He looked back at Lannes. "Get yourself to your squad. They're on the left side of the road from this direction. We'll need every rifle we have on the firing line."

"Yes, sir," Lannes said, saluted, then turned and headed to his squad. As the three men went back over the ridge, he noticed that the shadows were growing long. Had it really been three days since he left Vredefort's office? Yes, it had been, and he shook himself and took a moment to look at the defenses.

Bytern's plan was fairly obvious. Tippelskirch's squad, which had four of the company's ten fire teams, half the shocktroopers and engineers, all the snipers, and now the two lancers, was holding the road, which left Hardwick and Quiot, whose squads were almost all scouts, on the flanks. With any luck, the Imperials would come up the road, get their noses bloodied by Tippelskirch, then try to send their infantry around the flanks and run into the others. Hopefully, after having their flanking attempts thwarted, they'd withdraw until the morning.

It wasn't particularly sophisticated or daring, and Lannes itched to go on the attack. However, he reminded himself, they were largely untrained in field maneuvers. Things were always much more complicated on the battlefield than in your own head.

He was broken out of his thoughts when he heard Sergeant Winter. "Heinrich, get over here. No time for woolgathering."

"Yes, Sergeant," he replied, then moved towards her and the team. Egmond and Friedrich were already taking cover, and Winter was leaning back against a rock with her rifle resting on it. "Good to see you, Heinrich," she said quietly as he came in closer, and she clapped him on the shoulder. "No resting on your laurels, though. You're second if I get hit. Find a firing position, and get ready. We set up a few extras, just in case."

"Thanks, Sergeant."

"Don't thank me," she said with a grim smile. "The longer you throw bullets at the enemy, the better chance I have of retiring."

Not really knowing what to say to that, Lannes nodded, then looked for a good spot. He found one quickly—an oak had fallen the year before and split over one of the rocks. Most of it had rolled downhill, but the roots and three meters of the trunk were still there, and Seaworth was the only one behind it.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked as he knelt behind the log.

"No trouble, Corp," Seaworth responded absently as he looked towards the next ridge. "Glad for the company." Then he cursed.

"What?" Lannes asked before he saw what Seaworth was looking at, then also cursed as he began to sweat. That was a tank cresting the next ridge.

 **A/N: This story will be updated each Monday. I'm going to be following the format of the original Valkyria Chronicles fairly slavishly, so expect 18 full chapters, an epilogue, and a bit more than half-a-dozen side stories that shed some light on the characters and the setting but don't really fit into the main narrative. Comments and critiques are welcome, and I hope you enjoy reading this.**


	2. Delaying Actions

_Imps like to brag 'bout how they rolled right over us, those early days. They ain't got nothin' to brag about. Never did beat us in a square fight. Just rolled right over us with those Valkyrur-cursed tanks._

Excerpted from an interview with a Gallian Army veteran, 1946.

Lannes gripped his rifle tighter, and looked around for a moment. Seaworth looked like he was ready to throw up, and Lannes didn't blame him at all. He hoped MacDonnell and Kolchak weren't still down in the valley, but there was no time to think on that now. The first infantrymen were coming over the hill now behind the tank, and it looked like…yes, it was a scout platoon.

The tank stopped, but the scouts pushed on. Lannes winced. Apparently they weren't entirely drunk on victory.

Just then, he heard a soft rustle behind him, and turned his head as Sergeant Winter slid in behind the trunk. "Listen up," she said quietly. "Captain's orders are to hold fire until the Imps try and outflank the squads by the road. Me and Vladek'll be in the center. Hold fire 'til we hose 'em."

"Got it, Sergeant," Lannes whispered, and Seaworth nodded. "Can do, Sarge."

"Good," she said with a grin. "Just don't get too excited. Plenty of Imps for all of us," she added as she slid back out to the next position.

Seaworth and Lannes looked at each other. "Is it just me, or does the Sergeant get happier the closer we get to battle?" Lannes asked quietly.

Seaworth grimaced and spoke in equal volume. "It's not just you. Seems that…"

He paused and sighed with relief. "Well, it looks like MacDonnell's team pulled out not long after you came through. Imps just went right through there without a stop."

Lannes looked carefully. Yes, they had, and he felt a sense of relief under the slowly coiling tension, but that soon disappeared as he looked over to the other ridge and saw the first tank and another like it moving down the hill, followed by another infantry platoon.

He could see the Imperial scouts getting closer, and he felt the urge to fire and end the waiting, but he kept his hand away from the trigger guard. He tried to distract himself by observing the oncoming Imperials to see if he could figure out which ones were their leaders. It didn't take more than three seconds to figure it out, though, as certain men in that platoon were wearing red instead of feldgrau, and seemed to be the ones giving the orders. He felt his hand moving towards the trigger again.

Then his head whipped around as four rifle shots, one after another, cracked out from the squads next to them. Three red-clad soldiers fell backwards, and the rest scrambled for cover. Almost immediately, the scouts in the center began to fire. The Imps fired back, and the battle was on.

Lannes cursed under his breath. His friends were being shot at, curse it, several of them would probably die, and he wanted in on this, because he'd be hanged if he stood by and watched. But…wait, there it was. One of the Imp squads that still had a man in red was already beginning to move off the road, onto their side.

Perfect.

He crouched all the way behind the tree and looked over at Seaworth, who was clutching his rifle like a talisman while bearing a grimly determined look, and nodded. "'Bout to start, Georg," he said, and then he heard a buzzsaw noise from near to where Winter was and lifted himself and his gun up to fire.

He didn't see anyone directly in front of him as he cuddled the rifle to his shoulder, but caught a glimpse of feldgrau to the left of his rifle's muzzle.

Time stopped.

 _Swing to the left._

 _The Imp's raising his rifle._

 _Put the helmet in your sights._

 _Don't pull, squeeze._

CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!

The Imp flew backwards, dropping his rifle to the ground, and he realized that Georg had fired with him…then suddenly felt his bowels and knees go watery as bullets began to zip by him and he hit the dirt.

"They're shooting back at us!" he said indignantly, then laughed at the absurdity of it. Of course they were shooting back. He reloaded, waited until a bullet hadn't gone by for two seconds, and popped his head back up to see what was going on besides the firing. It looked like the team had hit the Imps pretty hard, but there were still a few out there, as he figured out when he heard shots followed by a cut-off scream and turned to see Jel Tulloch sliding down a tree.

He got down immediately and looked over at Seaworth, who'd dropped to the ground with him, grimaced, then popped his head back up to search for a target just as Winter and Vladek opened fire with their MAGs at a group who'd pulled themselves together. He added his rifle to the cacophony, as did everyone else in the team, and the last Imp fell three seconds in. He then turned his head, and his blood ran cold. The Imps were pushing forward with both of the other platoons of infantry, one on each side in a v-formation, and all five tanks were pushing up the road just ahead of the line of soldiers.

Two plumes of smoke shot out from the center, striking one of the light tanks on both treads. It slammed to a halt, but it wasn't out of the action. It fired, and a gout of dirt erupted from the road.

The other tanks continued forward, seemingly unfazed. The lancers fired again, and the lead tank was stopped in its tracks. At which point it fired its main gun, as did the other immobilized tank, and Lannes winced as he saw two figures fly into the air.

Then the other tanks got into mortar range, despite having to jockey around the two halted tanks, halted, and fired, while the two halted ones joined in with their main guns.

Lannes couldn't tell exactly where the rounds landed, but when he saw nearly a dozen bodies flying through the air, he knew they'd landed where they needed to. He sighed.

Then his eyes widened as he saw men and women standing up and running, and cursed. Not that he was surprised that the center teams were running like rabbits after losing half their members, but it still hurt.

Then the infantry started firing, as did the machine guns of the tanks, and the whole line began to unravel. He raised his rifle to fire, but as he did so he heard Winter yelling "Fall back on me!" and felt a tug on his sleeve.

"Come on, Heinrich," Seaworth was saying, all formality forgotten in the chaos. "We need to get out of here."

Lannes turned to look at him. Seaworth was scared, but he also looked like he was ready to chew nails, and Lannes pointed behind them. "You go. Find some cover and get ready to give me some. Somebody's got to give these Imps something to think about. Now _move,_ " he almost snarled as he pushed Seaworth back and raised his rifle to his shoulder.

 _There,_ he thought. A red-uniformed man, ordering his team to swing in and try and catch the flank of their squad—and where was the lieutenant, anyway? No time for that now.

 _Hold your breath._

 _Head in your sights._

 _Squeeze._

CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!

The red-uniformed man crumpled, and Lannes ran for his life as bullets began to whistle past him. He heard two rifles firing up ahead, and saw Holmborn and Seaworth blazing away at the men shooting at him. He reached their position and turned to see the Imps going to ground.

"Let's go, you two," he ordered as he saw the team to their left get out of the way. "We'll meet 'em on the next ridge."

"Right, Corp," Seaworth replied as Holmborn nodded, and they fell back towards the crest of the hill, looking behind them to see if they were being followed. The Imps, however, seemed content to let them go, following just close enough to keep them from setting an ambush.

Lannes was relieved, but, now that he wasn't nervously waiting to get shot or fighting for his life and he had a moment to think, he was surprised that they'd attacked at all. It must have been a long day for those men.

They made for the road once they were over the crest, and reached it about halfway down the slope. It didn't look like the company had slowed down once the rout got going. Weapons and other equipment littered the road, and Lannes grimaced when he saw a MAG and its ammunition bandolier lying in the grass.

"I can't believe someone dropped that," he complained. Then he brightened as he remembered something and stopped to pick it up.

"Corp?" Seaworth asked, and Lannes grinned.

"I was trained to be a shocktrooper back at the university," he explained. "I only became a scout here because the watch's shocktrooper complement was full, and the Captain," his face fell, as he realized that Bytern was probably dead, "didn't want to displace anyone. Scout was my second proficiency."

He racked the slide back and nodded. "They build these things tough," he said as he slung his rifle over his shoulder. "Let's move."

As they began a gentle climb up the next hill, Lannes looked around and realized there was another very good reason for the Imps to have halted. It was getting dark, and just as he realized that he heard a rustling in the woods. Seaworth and Holmborn heard it too, and two rifles and a MAG were pointing at the source of the noise before Lannes called out "Friend or foe?"

"Friend!" a voice said, and Friedrich emerged from the woods, wiping his brow. "Whew!" he exhaled. "I was worried there. I thought you three were a scouting party."

"Have you seen anyone else?" Lannes asked. "We lost track in the confusion."

Friedrich shook his head. "I was right next to Jel when she went down, I thought I heard Vladek get shot, and I heard Winter yelling up ahead once. Also, the Lieutenant got sniped. Other than that, I have no idea."

"Well, let's go then," Lannes said. "We don't have long before we get to town, and we'll need rest for tomorrow," he added as Friedrich joined them and they started moving again.

"For tomorrow, Corporal?" Friedrich asked.

"Tomorrow," Lannes confirmed. "We'll be fighting them in Ghirlandaio town, I'll bet a month's pay on it."

Friedrich didn't say anything, but Lannes, despite keeping his eyes on the road in front of him, could tell by the change in his footsteps that he was troubled.

"What's wrong?" he inquired as he turned his head to look at him, and Friedrich grimaced.

"Well, Corporal," he said slowly, "we couldn't stop the Imps when it was just a company of them against a company of us. What makes you think we'll be able to stop them in town tomorrow, when they'll be stronger and us weaker?"

Lannes stopped and turned to face the others. Friedrich looked at him half-stubbornly, half-hopefully, as if both daring and asking him to deny the truth of what he'd said. Holmborn looked angry and scared, like she wanted to fight but didn't think she could win. Seaworth looked impassive, but Lannes could tell that he wanted an answer, too.

He decided to go with the truth.

"Truthfully, Friedrich, we can't," he said, and he heard a hiss of indrawn breath from all three of the others as he made the admission, "barring miraculous reinforcements. But," he continued, "we're going to make a stand anyway. Because what does Gallia need, more than anything else?"

"Time, Corp," Seaworth answered.

"Exactly. Time. We bought Gallia at least an hour back there," he pointed to the site of their defeat, "and if you think we'll be seeing that company again, you're nuts."

"They killed lots of us, too, Corporal," Holmborn pointed out.

"Yes," Lannes said, and he felt his shoulders slump and straightened them again. "But we're going to be fighting in a town we know like the back of our hands, and defending is easier than attacking. No, we can't hold. But every hour we delay them means another hour for the people behind us to prepare to defend themselves. Every company shredded here is a company that won't be able to attack when the Imps run into the troops that are almost certainly coming here. And…" he paused, "And, every hour we hold them in town is another hour for the rest of the town to get away."

Friedrich's eyes went wide, and Lannes remembered. Friedrich and his family were Darcsens, and the Empire…well, Lannes didn't care much one way or the other about dark-hairs, but the Empire was a little overzealous on the subject. Holmborn and Seaworth both nodded.

"Well, let's go then," Lannes said, and they marched on in silence.

* * *

Lannes lay sprawled back against a pile of sandbags, MAG across his chest and utterly dead to the world. He blinked when he felt a boot toe gently strike his ribs.

"Rise and shine, Corporal, and get your team up too," Sergeant Winter said with a laugh. "Time to earn our day's pay," she added as she hurried on to get the rest of what was now her squad awake.

Lannes shook his head and sighed as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes and rose to a sitting position to take in a street lit only by the not-quite-risen sun, his team sprawled around him. It wasn't much different from commanding his section. Egmond was missing, Tulloch, Jaeger, and Vladek were dead, and Winter had taken over Quiot's squad.

"Morning, Corporal," a friendly voice said, breaking him out of that train of thought, and Lannes looked up to see Emm Todt standing over him with a mug of coffee.

"Morning, Emm," he replied, and reached over to shake Seaworth awake. "Georg, wake up! The sun's almost up."

Seaworth groaned as he came awake. "Why couldn't we sleep in our beds? Everything hurts."

"Because we needed to be ready if the Imperials came in," Lannes replied. "Now come on, we need to wake up the others."

"Right, Corp," Seaworth replied, and reached down to shake Friedrich's shoulder.

"Any sign of breakfast, Corp?" Holmborn asked as she yawned and stretched.  
"I saw Emm with a mug of coffee," Lannes replied. "It might be wherever she got that."

"Was she on watch?" Freidrich asked.

"I hope someone was on watch last night. I certainly didn't think of it." The others nodded. They'd finally reached the outskirts of town slightly after midnight, one of the last groups to straggle in. Winter had reached town about half-an-hour before they had with most of the rest of Quiot's squad—apparently the lieutenant had taken a sniper's bullet to the face. Tippelskirch's squad was almost gone—MacDonnell had barely managed to get five or six of them out, although with a sniper rifle and a lance. Hardwick hadn't been pressed as hard as Quiot, and could scrape together two teams. Sergeant Dordt was in command there, now. The captain was dead, and Hardwick had taken his place.

He honestly wouldn't have given them a Darcsen's chance, except that the captain had apparently sent back the engineers to set up defenses in the town right after he'd returned with word of the advance. There hadn't been a lot of materials available, but they'd done wonders with it.

"Heinrich, over here!" he heard someone yell, and he smiled lopsidedly as he looked over to Timferov's and saw the old man wave at him out the door.

"What are you still doing here?" Lannes asked as he and the others walked towards the restaurant.

Aleksandr Timferov spat to the side. "Not letting the Empire run me out of my home again. I'm an old man, and I'm tired. Besides, figured you boys and girls would need feeding."

"Thank you, Aleks."

"It's what I do. I've got hot coffee and a quick breakfast laid out for each of you."

"Do you have a gun?" Lannes asked quietly as the others picked up their food.

"I have a rifle," Timferov replied softly. "They still owe me for Natasha and Pyotr, and my eyes are still good."

"You can still leave."

"Thank you, Heinrich," the old man replied. "But as I said, I do not want to. Now eat, my friend. You will need it."

"Yes sir," Lannes replied, and stuck out his hand. "Good hunting, Aleks."

"Stay well, Heinrich," Timferov replied as he took Lannes' hand to shake it and passed a sandwich over with the other. "Now go. Your sergeant will want to see you soon."

Lannes nodded, turned, grabbed a mug of coffee, and walked out behind the others back to where they'd slept the night before.

He rubbed his chin for a moment and looked at their position as he took another bite of his sandwich. The company was deployed along Main Street, their squad to the right and Hardwick's old squad to the left, with MacDonnell's fragment slightly back. Sandbags were set up covering the side streets, and…yes. There was a ladder on the near side of the house.

He nodded. "Georg, Emm."

"Corp?"

"Stay here in the side street. Take the sandbags when you hear shots fired. Don't get stupid. If a tank points at you, break for behind the building. Adrienne," he pointed upward. "Take the roof. Do not fire until you see an Imp drop. Friedrich, you're with me."

He looked at them. "No promises if we hold. But if we run, we die. Let's go."

He heard Holmborn clamber up the ladder as he and Friedrich went around and into the backdoor of the house. At least they had two ways out.

"Friedrich, take the second floor. I'll stay down here and make sure they don't come in behind you."

"Right, Corp." He went halfway up the steps, then paused. "If I may ask…"

"I'll yell if it's time to go. If it sounds like I'm down, get out and get the others back."

"Thanks, Corp," he replied, and went on up as Lannes crouched behind the window to the right of the doorway and scanned the street. Good field of fire, everything that was in sight was in range.

He heard a noise and spun around to point his gun at the source.

"Easy, Heinrich," he heard, and sighed in relief as a very weary Johanna van Reenan stepped out from the back room.

"Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Hardwick got an idea before Georg and Adrienne got back here," the engineer replied. "We started work on it then, but then we had to move towards the front, so we weren't able to start again until last night, and we worked on it almost until dawn. Then he assigned each of us to one of the teams when we finished."

"What were you working on?"

"It's a rearguard action. We're…" she stopped talking as a rumbling noise came to their ears.

"It sounds like they're coming in. Get over to that window," he said as he pointed to his left, "and get ready."

She scurried over and crouched under the window, rifle at the ready, but she looked droopier than she should have, which worried Lannes. The rest of the team had at least gotten some sleep, but he wasn't sure if she had gotten any.

He had a weak link, and he didn't like it.

He opened his mouth, then shut it as a low growling noise came to his ears from the direction of the Citadel.

"Is that the Empire?" van Reenan asked, and Lannes nodded.

"Yes." He leaned forward as the growling grew louder. "Johanna, how much sleep did you get last night? The truth."

"An hour, maybe less," she replied.

Lannes was about to say something, but was cut off by a shriek, a crash, and a crumbling building. "Right, no time. Stay low, and when I say run, run. Understand?"

"Yes, Corporal," she said, as Lannes poked his head up above the windowsill. There wasn't anyone there yet, but if there were tanks coming in, the infantry would be sweeping in front.

Another tank round came in, but he heard rifle shots from above under it, and then an Imp scout came in sight.

 _Lift._

 _Body in the sights._

 _Fire._

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

Scout down.

He dropped down to reload as a burst of fire ripped out from the other side of the street and he heard a man crumple on the other side of the wall. He looked over at van Reenan, who did not look tired anymore. Maybe he hadn't needed to be worried.

Then the world turned on its ear as the ground heaved under him. Clenching his teeth so as not to bite his tongue, he hit the ground hard enough to knock some of the wind out of him. Rolling over, he saw blue sky through what had been the corner of the house.

 _Nuts._ _Where's Friedrich? Where's Holmborn?_

He rolled over again and got to his knees, groggily. Friedrich had been thrown against the wall and had fallen down the stairs. Van Reenan had crawled over to him and was administering Ragnaid.

Lannes turned to see the street and looked into a rifle barrel, yawning big as a cannon.

Time stopped as he swung up his gun, but he was slow, so slow as the Imp squeezed the trigger…and the rifle dropped as the scout's head snapped to the side.

 _Thanks, Aleks,_ Lannes thought as he immediately poked his head out of the house's new bay window and cursed as he ducked back. It looked like there was a team's worth of Imp bodies in the street, and one of the tanks had tried to go down a side street and taken a lance to the treads.

Unfortunately, there were three more tanks on the way, there were two Imp teams coming up, one on each side of the street, and he could hear firing from his left and his right through the ringing in his ears.

"Corp!" he heard from behind him, and he turned to see Seaworth poking his head through the door.

"What's happening, Georg?"

"Imps are swinging around us! Rest of the squad's falling back and Holmborn needs a medic."

"Right. Nuts." Heinrich turned. "Friedrich, how are you?"

"I'll be fine, Corporal," Friedrich said through the Ragnaid cough as he stumbled to his feet with van Reenan's help. "I just need a moment."

"We don't have one," Lannes replied as he turned towards the back door. "Georg, cover—"

Seaworth was turning and raising his rifle to his shoulder.

CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!

He staggered back and fell, and Lannes ran for the door and flung himself through sideways. Two scouts.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

No scouts.

"Come on, you two!" he yelled into the house as he reloaded. "Get yourselves out here! Emm!" he called over to where she was kneeling down and looking over Holmborn. "We're leaving!"

"But Adrienne and Georg—"

"We have no medic, and the Imps are on us. _Move,_ " he snarled as he spotted a shocktrooper coming in and raised his gun to fire before the man jumped behind a house.

It was honestly impossible to tell what was happening, besides Friedrich and van Reenan getting out of the house. He heard Winter's soprano to his right and a crescendo of firing that died off in a few seconds, while the house on the other side of the street seemed to be holding fine.

Then a blue-uniformed figure was flung out the door by a grenade blast, followed by two quick bursts of fire from within the house.

Maybe not.

They fell back, Todt in front, Friedrich and van Reenan in the middle, and himself covering their rear.

"Corporal!" he heard Winter call from around the corner of a t-intersection that did not connect to Main Street.

"Todt, cover back," he ordered as he moved to the corner as Winter poked her head around.

"Holmborn and Seaworth?" she asked.

"Down," he replied. "How bad…nuts," he said as he reached the alley and saw that Winter had only four watchmen with her. One of the engineers, Josef Ivor, two scouts, Henrietta Falken and Yorick Guildenstern, and a shocktrooper, Charles Madigan.

"How do you want to run this?" he asked softly, and Winter grimaced.

"How's Friedrich?"

"He's recovering quicker than most, but he's still not all there."

"Take point and take Emm with you. I'll cover back with Charlie, Henrietta, and Yorick. Josef, Johanna, and Friedrich in the middle."

"On it, Sergeant. Todt, with me," Lannes said, and the world ended as he felt himself fly through the air and belly-flopped onto the ground.

 _Ow,_ he thought as he shook his head to get the dust off. _What in the name of the Valkyrur was_ that? He continued as he rolled over and opened his eyes to take in a scene of utter devastation—well, what he could see of it, anyway, the smoke and dust were thick as Timferov's special stew—but whatever it was had left a large crater in the road that he shouldn't have been able to see from where he was. And he was back to being half-deaf.

Ivor was getting to his feet, looking utterly dazed. Lannes scrambled to his feet, then staggered over to him. "Josef, what was that?" he yelled before coughing out some of the dust, figuring that Ivor was as hard of hearing as he was.

"Lieutenant's plan!" Ivor yelled back, then coughed himself before he was able to continue. "He knew we couldn't hold, so he had us fix up a truckfull of ragnite with an impact fuse."

"Who drove the truck?"

"The lieutenant! He was the only one who knew—who's in command, Heinrich? Where's Sergeant Winter?"

Lannes looked around frantically for someone else. Todt and van Reenan were helping Friedrich to his feet, and Guildenstern was leaning against a wall. Where were—

"Heinrich!" he barely heard Henrietta scream from close to where they'd been before the blast, and he half-lurched, half-ran over to her, as did the others.

He came to a halt and cursed when he got there. Madigan might've survived, if they'd had a medic. As it was, he wouldn't survive being moved without full stabilization. Sergeant Winter…if he hadn't known who was with them, he wouldn't have known the body without a head was Winter. He wanted to grieve, but he was beginning to hear more troops coming up. At least there weren't any tanks.

"What now, Corporal?" Friedrich asked.

They couldn't hold, and it looked like the Imps were going to try and push through the town.

"Ivor, van Reenan, Friedrich. Get back to Tannerman's Creek fast as you can and set up some sandbags on the other side."

"Corporal—"

"The Imps might've sent some flankers, that's why you're going with them. Falken, Guildenstern, Todt, you're with me. We'll head for that side street," he pointed to what looked like a clear one, "and fall back down Main Street, faces to the enemy. Understood?"

They all nodded.

"Move."

Lannes sprinted over towards Main, hoping that they wouldn't run into an enemy team. Screeching to a halt as he reached what looked like it had been Mort's Haberdashery, he poked his head around the corner.

The smoke was clearing, the dust was settling, and that crater contained what looked like several bits of tank. There was a light tank flipped over in what had been a house, a medium lying on its side, and bodies and pieces of bodies everywhere, but no Imps yet. He winced when he saw an arm holding Timferov's rifle.

 _Hope you got three,_ he thought, then snapped his head to the side when he heard a noise across the street, only to relax when he saw blue and heard someone he recognized yell "Heinrich, is that you?"

"Yes," he replied. "Corporal Duggar?"

"Thank the Valkyrur," Alexa Duggar, who'd been with Dordt, replied, and ran across the road, leading Phil Jacobs, Karin Scholl, and Yevgeny Foch. They were all scouts, and as they tucked in behind the wall with them, Lannes asked who else was with them.

"I don't know," she replied miserably. "We got outflanked right before the explosion, and they hit us hard. I don't know where the Sergeant is, and I don't know anything about MacDonnell's team. Where's Sergeant Winter?"

"Dead," Lannes replied, and just as Duggar was about to say something a bullet whizzed by.

"What do we do now?" she asked. "Run or fight?"

"Both," Lannes replied. "Take your team to the other side of the street. We'll fire and maneuver back. Maybe they'll give it up as a bad job—we've got the range on them, for one thing."

Duggar nodded. "Right." She turned to her team. "You heard the man, let's go!" she said, and sprinted back across the road and backward a little. He noticed the bullets kicking up dust and nodded.

Lannes turned. "Are you ready?" he asked, and Todt grinned.

"As we'll ever be, Corp," she chuckled grimly, and Lannes grinned back.

"Here we go then," he said, and flung himself around the corner, MAG at the ready.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!

CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!

The scouts who'd started pursuing Duggar's group went down, and Lannes reloaded, as he yelled "Back!"

Duggar's team covered them as they retreated, dropping two scouts who'd gotten a bit overeager.

"Hold!" as they got twenty feet back of Duggar, and a red-clad shocktrooper took ten bullets to the head as he tried to catch her team in a spray of bullets.

"Back!"

"Hold!" and he heard a fourth rifle join their volley. There was no time to check who it was.

"Back!"

"Hold!"

"Back!"

"Hold!"


	3. Ambush in Vasel

_The Gallian war plan was relatively simple. If attacked, Gallia would rely upon its fortifications, natural defenses, and regular army and town watch to delay the invaders while the militia mobilized, received refresher training, and organized into functional units. Once this was accomplished, the militia, backed by the surviving regulars, would counterattack and reclaim the lost territory. This was well known to all the war planners within the Europan Empire and Atlantic Federation, and after what had happened during the First Europan War, no senior career military officer or politician was willing to make attacking Gallia part of their strategy._

 _Prince Maximilian was neither, and he had an ace in the hole…_

Excerpted with permission from _A History of the Second Europan War_ , William Hackett; University of Chimay; 1968

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes adjusted his officer's cap one more time. He'd never liked the things at the university, and he didn't like them now. The brim was too short to really shield you from the sun, and it offered no protection against shrapnel. The cap looked smart, but that was all it was good for, and he'd never been able to get it to fit right, but he'd be hanged if he wouldn't try.

There was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" he answered, as he decided that the fit of the cap wasn't going to get any better and headed for the door.  
"Sergeant Alan Traherne, sir."

"Sergeant Traherne?" he replied as he opened the door.

"Yes sir," the scout standing in front of the door said as he saluted. "I'm your squad sergeant, sir."

Lannes blinked as he returned the salute. "I was not informed of this."

"Sorry, sir. You can ask the Captain about it when we see her."

Lannes blinked again. "Pardon?"

"That's why I'm here, sir. The Captain 'desires a meeting with you at your earliest convenience,'" Traherne said, his tone making it apparent that he was quoting her.

"Then I suppose we should go now, sergeant," Lannes replied, stepping through the door and shutting it behind him. "Where are we going?"

"This way, sir," Traherne replied, gesturing down the corridor.

Lannes started down the corridor, Traherne falling in to his left.

"How long have you known Captain Varrot?" Lannes asked

"Since the last war, sir. I've been part of the cadre for the 3rd Militia ever since."

"You think she's a good officer, I take it."

"Yes sir. You've only seen her at the meet-and-greet?"

"Correct. I wasn't sure what to make of her."

"Once you see her command, sir, you'll understand."

Lannes nodded. Something that the instructors in military science at the University had attempted to drill into their students' heads was that good noncoms were worth their weight in ragnite. While he'd never met Traherne before, he had to assume that if he was cadre, he was a good noncom, which meant that his evaluation of Captain Varrot could be trusted.

Which was a relief. Going into battle under someone who did not know what they were doing was not something he would look forward to under any circumstances.

"Where are you from, sergeant?" he asked abruptly.

"Up by the Marberry shore, sir."

"Is your family all right?"

"Yes sir. My mother and father evacuated down to Randgriz, my sister's in the Auxiliary, and my brother's in the Regulars. Thank you for asking. And yours?"

"My parents live in Randgriz. I'm an only child."

Traherne looked like he was about to respond to that statement, but then said "We're here, sir," and pointed at a door labeled _Captain Eleanor Varrot_.

"Thank you Sergeant," Lannes replied, and knocked.

"Come in," a soft voice commanded.

Lannes opened the door and stepped through it, Traherne following behind, came to attention and saluted. "Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes and Sergeant Alan Traherne, reporting as ordered, ma'am."

"At ease, gentlemen," Varrot said as she returned the salute. "Lieutenant Lannes, you are in command of Squad Two. As he's told you, Sergeant Traherne is your squad sergeant. I would rather not have sprung that on you, but it couldn't be helped."

"It's war, ma'am. These things happen."

"Your squad hasn't been assigned yet. Do you have any requests?"

Lannes blinked. "Requests, ma'am?"

Varrot nodded. "Officers in the militia have the opportunity to choose some of their soldiers. It's a holdover from the old days."

"Some of the troops from the Ghirlandaio Town Watch, ma'am," Lannes replied as he looked squarely at Varrot. "I consider them to be my responsibility."

She smiled slightly. "Submit a list to my desk by this time tomorrow, and I'll see what I can do. You should know who's in your squad by the end of the week."

"Thank you ma'am. Much obliged."

"You're welcome." She paused. "Sergeant, would you please go speak with the Drill Instructor? We're not going to have a lot of time to train everyone, and I'm sure the two of you can come up with some ideas to speed up training."

"Yes ma'am," Traherne replied, saluted, turned on his heel when Varrot returned it, whispered what sounded to Lannes like "Good answer, Lieutenant," and walked out of the room and shut the door behind him.

Varrot steepled her fingers in front of her. "How are you doing, Lieutenant?"

Lannes blinked. "Pardon?"

"I looked at your file. Then I looked at the reports written by the senior survivor of the watch and the commander of the reinforcements. That the senior survivor of the watch was a Sergeant…Dordt, I believe, was telling. That the relief force found twenty of you at the bridge over Tannermann's Creek said a lot. That there were only seven survivors from your squad in particular said a lot more. So. How are you doing?"

Lannes exhaled. "The truth is, ma'am, not horribly. I get the shakes if I start thinking about it too long, and I've had a nightmare or two. I don't like the fact that I left some of my soldiers behind. Everything between the beginning of the retreat and getting back to Tannermann's Creek is a blur. The first thing I actually remember after pulling out of the town is passing out when I saw one of our tanks cresting the hill. But I'm still fit to fight, ma'am. I owe the Imps a debt, and I can't repay them if I'm out of it. But I also can't repay them if I'm dead. So I won't be leading any berserker charges, either, ma'am."

Varrot looked searchingly at him for a moment, then nodded. "Good. I thought so, but I wanted to hear it from you." She looked back at her desk, then looked back up. "What are your opinions of Darcsens, Lieutenant?"

"Darcsens, Captain?"

"Darcsens. They're also being drafted, and there will be problems enough without their officers hating them."

Lannes nodded. That made sense—Captain Varrot didn't want to assign soldiers to officers who would try and get them killed at the first opportunity. His opinion of her went up a notch. _If she's as good on the battlefield as she is with this, we'll have no trouble at all._

"Darcsens are people, ma'am, so far as I know. I've never gone out of my way for them, but the Darcsen Calamity was a long time ago."

"Fair enough, Lieutenant. You'll be assigned some. Are you prepared to deal with potential tensions?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. Sergeant Traherne dealt with it during the last war. You should talk to him."

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. Remember, have your request on my desk tomorrow. Dismissed."

* * *

Squad Two of the 3rd Militia Regiment moved down the trail outside Vasel in diamond formation. The teams were deployed in mirror image of each other, Traherne's in the lead. He and his scouts were in front, almost out of earshot from Lannes, his shocktroopers and lancers a bit behind, then the engineers, then the snipers, and then Lannes, who was pleased to see the cleared area around the camp coming up.

He turned for a moment to look at the team behind him and twitched a little. Sergeant Mila Yancey wasn't the problem—she wasn't a veteran like Traherne, but she'd been in the Fouzen Watch, was a shocktrooper, and had established herself as being second only to Traherne in team leadership. No, it was Corporal Ike Rogers, lancer, mostly because he wasn't who Lannes actually wanted to be a corporal.

That had been an…interesting discussion with Traherne, who he'd relied on very carefully these past few weeks. A good officer made a point of listening to his noncoms, especially ones who'd been soldiering since before he'd been born. A good officer also made sure that he commanded his noncoms, rather than the other way around. Traherne, fortunately, had never done anything that might have required forcing the issue.

The question of who to recommend for promotion, however, had come very, very close. It would have been simple if Lannes had gotten everyone he'd wanted from Ghirlandaio Town, because that would have meant Corporal Duggar would have come in, and town watch ranks carried over to the militia.

Unfortunately, she and her section had been snagged by the squad Sergeant Dordt had been assigned to, over in the 5th, which meant that he'd ended up with only the survivors from his old squad being assigned to his new one.

There hadn't been any issues with him now being an officer—everyone had acted very proper. No, the problem was much simpler.

Due to the nature of the promotion system, he could only recommend promoting one private to corporal, and he'd thought Friedrich should be that one.

Traherne had disagreed.  
"It's not the best idea, sir," he'd said as they'd walked the perimeter of the camp that evening.  
"Why do you say that, Sergeant?" Lannes had replied. "He's a good scout, he's scored well on in all the leadership exercises, and I trust him."

Traherne had shaken his head. "That last part's the trouble, sir. You know him. The whole squad's heard about the retreat from Ghirlandaio Town, and they know who was with you."

Lannes had rubbed the back of his neck. "Why is that relevant?"

"It gives the appearance of favoritism. I think he's a good soldier too, and he'll be a good corporal, but if the troops think there's a clique, you won't be able to lead them." Traherne had paused then. "He's also a Darcsen, and we have Darcsen haters in the squad."

He'd sighed. "You're right, Sergeant. Who's your recommendation?"

"Rogers or Bullfinch, sir."

"Rogers. He was my second choice."

"Yes sir," the sergeant had replied, and Lannes remembered the distinct feeling that he'd been led into the decision Traherne had wanted him to make.

However, Rogers was shaping up to be an excellent corporal, and was a good foil to Sergeant Yancey. While he wasn't sure about having two new noncoms on the same team, he also thought Traherne could take care of his team by himself, he wasn't sure if Yancey could do that, and she and Rogers got along well enough. He hoped he was right.

However, it was time to get back into camp. With any luck, Captain Varrot would have word about their next assignment. He was getting tired of training.

* * *

 _Be careful what you wish for,_ Lannes thought as his squad forced-marched down Randgriz Boulevard. _Although it wasn't like I wanted to go into action_ today!

But they had to. The Empire had taken Vasel Bridge the night before by drifting two squads of infantry down the river on rafts and seizing the drawbridge controls. By morning, they'd put a full battalion over the river, and were moving up another. To make matters worse, by the time Captain Varrot was informed of the situation, she'd sent all of her squads but Landzaat's and Gunther's out on another shakedown patrol.

Lannes wondered why she would take such an idea into her head, but she hadn't known that the regiment was going to be put into action that early, and her orders were to counterattack in coordination with the Vasel Defense Battalion as soon as she possibly could.

Unfortunately, the Vasel Defense Battalion was in such a state that they weren't sure where all their units were. As a result, Varrot had ordered the two squads to attack along the riverbank, Gunther in the lead with the river to his right, with Landzaat providing flank guard to his left. As each squad had come in from patrol, she'd sent each in to provide flank guard for the one before it.

Gunther, in the meantime, had successfully taken his objective and tried to push forward a little, but had halted when resistance stiffened. The Imps had tried to launch a counterattack, but had been rebuffed by the _Edelweiss_ ,his tank, and concentrated small-arms fire, so they'd tried to outflank him, only to have Landzaat hit their flank and send them reeling. They had then repeated the process with the latter, and were about to outflank him when Berthelmy's squad crashed into their flanking maneuver.

This process had repeated three more times as Varrot's squads came in, and now it was their turn. He hoped that they'd be able to anchor between the regulars and the rest of the regiment.

Given how the day had apparently been going, though, that probably wasn't going to happen.

He'd told them to shift back into diamond formation when they hit the city limits. Intel said there weren't any Imps until half-kilometer from the river, but he wasn't risking his squad on that. They were going down Randgriz Boulevard at the double-quick, everyone trying to look everywhere at once as they heard gunshots and occasional explosions in the near distance when he heard Traherne yell "Sir, friendlies up ahead! Looks like some of ours."

Lannes paused for a moment to shade his eyes with his hand to see what Traherne was talking about. Yes, there they were, three scouts without helmets, about twenty yards from the sergeant, one of them running straight towards his squad. He raised his hand to halt Yancey's team, then trotted ahead to go see what was going on. As he came forward, he saw the scout—a woman, now that he could see her more clearly—slow down to speak to Traherne, whose team had already moved to the sides of the street, and then both came back towards him.

"Private Alexa Cresce, sir. Squad Three," she said, thankfully not snapping off a textbook salute, but instead nodding her head.

"Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes. What's going on?"

"Lieutenant Nowicky put us back here to guide the squads as they came in. We're positioned astride the boulevard. Imps've just about shot their bolt. When Kanawa's squad hit the force that tried to flank us, it was barely a team. But there's trouble."

"What sort of trouble?"

"We've taken some Imp prisoners. Apparently they sent out a patrol to find the regulars, and they're coming back right now. Two light tanks and two assault teams."

Lannes cursed. Imp assault teams were almost all shocktroopers and lancers. Ambushing them would be easier than if they were recon teams—and why didn't the Imps send at least one of those, sending two assault teams to look for the enemy made no _sense_ —but their firepower could be painful.

"Do we know where they're coming from?"

"They're not coming down the boulevard. It looks like the Imps are coming back down a street three blocks over. Scouts say they're ten minutes away."

"Right. Any chance of help?"

Cresce shook her head. "No, sir. Imps aren't pushing too hard, but they're letting us know they're there. We can't pull anyone out of the line."  
"Tell Lieutenant Nowicky that we'll deal with the problem, and that we'll be moving to intercept those Imps in two minutes."

"Yes sir," Cresce replied, turned, and ran back towards the other members of her squad as Lannes turned and yelled "Rally on me! We've got work to do!"

As his soldiers converged on him Lannes thought furiously. A stand-up fight was the worst possible idea. If the Imp lieutenant had a brain in his head he'd keep the tanks back and use them for suppressing fire while using his lancers to blast holes in the buildings for his shocktroopers to storm through. In this close terrain, the long-range firepower provided by a Gallian squad's scouts wasn't much of an asset.

He paused. On the other hand, it also wasn't a complete liability, either. In fact—yes, this could work very nicely. Lannes nodded. It wasn't much of a plan, and it wasn't in the manual, but he couldn't let that much firepower get back to the Imps' main body.

He looked around. The squad was gathered in close enough to where he could talk normally, but not so close that they could be taken out by a single mortar round, and half the scouts were looking outward. Traherne had done a good job.

"Listen up," he said as he knelt to draw on the pavement. "We've got an Imp assault squad with tanks heading down three blocks behind me. We've got eight minutes 'til they get abreast of Lieutenant Kanawa. We have to be sneaky. Sergeant Traherne."

"Sir."

"Take your team, all the engineers, and Marx and Cranmer"—the snipers—"and go down that street." He pointed to the first intersection on the way to the bridge. "Set up in ambush, you won't have long. Marx, Cranmer, hit their scouts first, then the leaders. Sergeant, I'm trusting you to give the order for general fire when you see fit. We'll be waiting on that to move. Sergeant Yancey, we're taking the rest of your team down that street," he pointed to the first intersection on the way back to Randgriz, "and hitting them in the flank."

He looked around. "Any questions?"

Traherne spoke. "A two-pronged assault, sir?"

"Even if this does go pear-shaped, Sergeant," Lannes replied, "they should be confused enough that they won't press things. And I can't say how this plan going wrong will make things any worse than a conventional one."

"Yes sir."

Lannes looked around. "Any more questions?"

No one replied.

"We have seven minutes. Get moving."

"Alright, you heard the L-T!" Traherne yelled, "Get yourselves in gear or I will kick you into it! Move! Move! Move!"

They moved, the squad splitting a little roughly due to Yancey's engineers being mixed in with the rest of her team, but it could have been much worse. Boots pounding the pavement, he fell in place to Yancey's right, speaking to her as one does when running like your life depends on it.

"Sergeant."

Breath. Breath.

"We won't be."

Breath. Breath.

"Set up in."

Breath. Breath.

"This street."

Breath. Breath.

"Instead we'll."

Breath. Breath.

"Set up in."

Breath. Breath.

"The street before."

Breath. Breath.

"The one that."

Breath. Breath.

"The Imps are."

Breath. Breath.

"Coming down."

Breath. Breath.

"Understood?"

Breath. Breath.

"Yes sir!" he heard two voices say, and he looked to his right and slightly behind to see Corporal Rogers running as easy as you please with his lance slung over his shoulder, and he cursed for a moment the accidents of birth that made some men mountains and others birches.

They got to the intersection that was their destination, and Lannes carefully eyeballed the situation. It looked like this was one of the narrower rows, with only around thirty meters between this street and the next. Six seconds, seven at the most for a shocktrooper. The lancers might be a little slower, but not by much. Besides, that wouldn't matter for what he had planned.

He turned to look at Yancey and her team. While they had the squad's current two Darcsen haters, a scout named Helga Derfflinger and a shocktrooper named Matthias Delmon, it hadn't affected their training much, although Traherne had been careful not to pair either of them with Friedrich or Kat during hand-to-hand.

"All right," he said and took a breath.

"Here's the plan," he said as they gathered around. "Sergeant Traherne will start things off with his team and get their attention. Then we'll come in behind. Shocktroopers first, then lancers. The first shocktrooper will run across the street and target the nearest Imp shocktrooper. The next shocktrooper will do the same, but will halt before clumping with the first. The first is me. Clear?"

They all nodded. "Sergeant, you decide the order the rest of you follow after." While Yancey did that, he turned to the lancers.

"Lancers will target the far tank, then the near one. They will move after the last shocktrooper opens fire. Clear?"

They nodded, the corporal first. "Right. Stay behind the corner," Lannes said as the rumbling of the tanks became more defined. "Won't be long."

As the Imps came closer, Lannes' mind began to race as he considered everything that could go wrong. Traherne could give the order to fire too soon, or one of his men could shoot early, or one of the tanks could break down, or...it seemed like there were a thousand holes in his plan, now that he had time to think about it, and...

Two sniper rifles barked, one after the other, and a hail of rifle fire followed.

Doubt vanished and hesitation fled as vengeance took the field, and Lannes snarled "Follow me!" as he rounded the corner, barely noticing the sergeant yelling "Come on!" as she followed him.

There were two Imp scouts lying in the roadway, and he bared his teeth. There'd be no warning, and Heinrich Lannes was about to get some of his own back at truly usurious interest rates. He took a moment to mentally slap himself for being such an accountant, but there was no time, and he turned his head to the right as he pelted across the street.

It had been just as he expected. The Imps had gone down the road, one team on each side, with the tanks in the middle, and they were all focused on Traherne.

Well, not entirely, he amended, as the shocktrooper closest to his destination turned towards him and, hoping that the Imp on the other wall wasn't about to fill his back full of holes as he went, he threw himself forward, keeping the Imp in his sights, and fired the moment he hit the ground about ten feet from his target.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

The Imp slammed back into the wall, and Lannes rolled to cover in a doorway as more MAGs rattled and the Imps discovered they'd been nutcrackered.

Lannes reloaded and poked his head up to see two lances fly across his field of vision and blow the lead tank straight to hell, then turned to see the back tank lift its gun into mortar position and turn towards him...only to blow apart at the welds as two more lances hit its radiator.

The Imps had nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. Their commanders had all been killed, their tanks were gone, and they were caught between two fires as Traherne's shocktroopers moved forward. But they were no cowards, and they started firing back.

One of them pointed at him, spraying rounds like there was no tomorrow. Which there wouldn't be for the Imp, although the six or seven rounds that hit his torso hurt like anything.

Two more sniper rounds cracked out, two Imp shocktroopers went down, the rifle fire took out three more, and he charged forward to get the frantically reloading Imp in close range.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

The Imp flew back, more Gallian MAGs rattled from in front and to his side, and suddenly the street was quiet except for the sounds of burning ragnite and wounded men.

He looked around. Ragnaid meant that anyone who wasn't finished off would live, but you had to get to them in time.

There was one man down—Michel Tromp, it looked like, although he couldn't be sure—with Yancey giving aid, and...that was it?

"Corporal," he called, and Rogers looked up.

"Yes, sir?"

"Take your lancers, check for wounded."

"Yes sir."

"Sergeant."

"Sir?"

"How is he?"

"He'll be fine, sir. I've got him stabilized. If the medics get here in fifteen he'll make it."

"Good."

He looked around. Some of the Imps looked to already be dead. Should he take care of them? How many of his own men were down?

"Lieutenant!" He heard a voice call out, and he turned to see Traherne coming through the smoke.

"How are the men?"

"Two incapacitated—Student and Zollern. Got a little overeager. They'll be fine if the medic gets here soon."

"Good. You've got someone watching down the road?"

"Yes sir," Traherne replied, sounding almost offended. "I sent Gerard and Seydlitz down to make contact. Once we clean up here we can fall into the line."

"Excellent," Lannes nodded. The two scouts were good troops. He turned as he heard the tell-tale sound of a lancer to see Rogers coming toward him. "Corporal?"

"Tromp's the only one down."

Lannes blinked. Three? That was all?

He looked around. The shocktroopers and scouts were picking their way through the Imps, making sure none of them were pretending to be unable to fight.

And...there was one of the medics, her long blond hair flying as she ran forward.

"Sorry," she panted. "I came as soon as I heard gunfire. How many?"

"Three," Traherne replied. "You ran right past one of them."

"Oh!" she cried, and turned immediately to the man lying in the street.

"Looks like we won, Sergeant," Lannes said to Traherne, then winced a little as he heard an Imp groan in agony. He looked over at the medic. "Which one are you?" he asked.

"Fina, sir," she replied, not looking up from where she was making sure that the wounded soldier would live.

"Fina. Once you've got our casualties patched up, see to the Imps, would you?"

"Wounded are wounded, sir," she said as she closed her bag and nodded to the sergeant. "I always do that." She looked at him levelly. "Thank you for not ordering otherwise. That would have been...unpleasant."

"Carry on, Fina," Lannes replied, feeling slightly uneasy at the sharp edge in her tone, and noticed his men administering Ragnaid to the survivors.

That statement hit him like a sledgehammer now that the fighting was over and he had the chance to actually look at what he'd done, and he realized in his gut just what the lack of an automatic stabilizer meant. He cursed, and Traherne nodded.

"It's the way of it, sir," he said softly. "Just remember you didn't send them out like that."

"I know, Sergeant," Lannes replied. "And I know that I didn't order them here." He looked to the east. "That's on Maximillian."

"Yes, sir," Traherne replied with a smile.


	4. Interlude: Tavern Trouble

_The question of what to do with a large collection of young, physically fit and active, living-in-the-moment young men is one that has constantly bedeviled armies whenever they are not actually fighting. One can only drill so much. As the Gallian military discovered, this problem did not go away when they allowed women into the force…Yet another issue faced by the Gallian militia was how to handle the regular/militia divide…_

Excerpted with permission from _A Social History of the Second Europan War_ , Amalie Rigolet; Varrot Books, 1973

It was Friday, and Heinrich Lannes was not looking forward to the weekend. At all.

Well, okay, he was looking forward to not going out in the woods again. But the fact was that he didn't really know most of the other lieutenants—Jo Falder, who commanded Squad Six, being the one exception—and going out and drinking with the enlisted men was frowned upon.

Besides, he really didn't want to impose on either Traherne or Yancey.

He had just about resigned himself to spending the evening at the Officer's Club, with its overpriced drinks, bad food, and worse service, and then spending the rest of the weekend holed up in his room refreshing himself on some of the things he was a little fuzzy on and some of the theories that had come out after his time at the university. He was particularly intrigued by some of the notions regarding "mechanized infantry" and its potential employment as part of a pursuing force. But, still, it looked to be a rather dull few days.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," he said, looking quickly down at his desk to make sure that all the paperwork he needed to fill out before the weekend had been completed. It was, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the door opened a crack and Falder poked her head in.

"Heinrich?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have plans for this evening?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, a bunch of us decided to go to one of the local taverns tonight, and we wanted to know if you were doing anything."

Heinrich shook his head. "Just planning on going to the officer's club for dinner and then going to bed. I'd like to come along if you don't mind."

Falder smiled cheerfully. "Good. I'll tell the others. We're meeting in fifteen minutes in front of regimental HQ."

She shut the door, and Heinrich smiled a little. He was probably still going to spend the rest of the weekend studying, but at least this Friday evening would involve something besides tactics, form-filling, and training.

He spent a few minutes checking and double-checking the forms he needed to turn in before he stopped work for the weekend. Immunization forms, medical check-ups, supply inventories—this was something he understood very well. It was taking a little bit of time to get used to soldiering again, but the bureaucracy was helping with the transition.

No matter, it was time to go. He put all the paperwork in its proper place in the file folder and tucked it under his arm, left his office and locked it after turning out the light, then strode down the hall to the filing clerk's desk.

"Here you are, Corporal," he said to the clerk, a legless veteran of EWI whose name was Milos Hofstra. "Do you have duty tonight?"

"That I do sir," the man said, remarkably cheerfully, as he took the folder. "Good chance to get some reading in once the filing's done. 'Sides, I don't mind covering."

"Have a good night, Corporal."

"You as well, sir," the man said as Heinrich went back down the hall and out the door. It was a crisp, clear March evening, and he was glad his shocktrooper's uniform was well-insulated. He took a moment to take in the stars before a voice broke into his ear.

"Heinrich!"

He looked over and, broken out of his brief reverie, took a moment to place who'd called to him in the group of junior officers standing outside the headquarters building. It was Lieutenant Claremont Nowicky, who was standing with Jo Falder, Hideki Kanawa, Louis Berthelmy, Stientje Wilders, and Marius Enjolras.

"Claremont," he replied, walking over. "Good to see you. Good to see all of you."

"Good to see you too, Heinrich," Berthelmy said with a laugh, and Heinrich staggered a little as the big man from the south slapped him on the back. "Come to join us?"

"So I am." Heinrich looked around. There were two missing. "Where are Faldio and Welkin?"

"Squads 1 and 7 have duty this weekend," Nowicky said cheerfully.

"Which means we don't have to deal with Welkin making weird bug analogies or Faldio crabbing about the senior leadership," Enjolras sniped.

Kanawa demurred. "Lieutenant Gunther's analogies, while strange, are often insightful, and while Lieutenant Landzaat does tend to be gloomy, his willingness to look beyond what is front of him is a valuable quality in a leader."

Enjolras gave Kanawa peculiar look. "I forgot, you're almost as strange as they are," he muttered.

Wilders shook her head. "Gentlemen, please. We haven't even started drinking yet. Plenty of time for gossip later." Both men glared at her for a moment, then relaxed as they acknowledged that she was right.

Falder piped up. "Well, since we're all here, we should probably get to the tavern before the 4th's officers drink it all themselves."

"A good idea," Berthelmy boomed. "Ladies and gentlemen, the night awaits!"

* * *

The Randgrizian Arms, Heinrich thought, was entirely undeserving of being compared to anything about the royal house of Gallia. Well, except possibly in terms of attempting to seek some kind of advantage from the war, he amended after looking at the price of the drinks.

Falder smiled at him when she saw the expression on his face. "Don't worry," she yelled cheerfully in order to be heard over the din. "It's half-price if you're in uniform!"

Which meant that he was still paying more than he would have back in Ghirlandaio town before the war, but they were here. Might as well.

He ordered a dark lager, thanked the rather attractive bartender when she gave it to him, and turned to really look at the place. It was crowded with men and women in Gallian officer's uniforms and not quite formal evening wear, and, he thought to himself, was a bit less shabby than it looked at first glance. The slight dinginess was almost—artful.

That contrasted with both the band and, much as he hated to admit it, most of the clientele. The former could keep a decent rhythm, but he'd heard better at his usual tavern in Ghirlandaio. That had been a good place. The staff was friendly but not intrusive, the prices were decent, and being right next to the Imperial border meant there was some actual variety in the beer. Which, when one went to a place most days after work with coworkers, was important. That, however, was woolgathering, and he took a more careful look at the patrons as he drank his beer.

Most of them, like him, couldn't dance, or at least not well, especially the male officers, although his perception that the women were better might not be entirely objective. And, as he looked more carefully, he began to get the notion that a few of the locals, men and women, were here for…mercenary purposes. Which made sense, but annoyed him for some reason.

Probably it was because the only time he'd lived in a big city had been his time at the university in Randgriz, and while he hadn't been a complete shut-in by any means, he and his friends had preferred quieter taverns than this. The kind of places where you'd be more likely to get into an argument over the validity of the economic entity assumption than a fight over a woman, as, Heinrich realized as a very drunk officer whose rank tabs indicated that he was a regular laid a hand on Enjolras' shoulder, was very likely to happen now.

 _Nuts,_ he thought as he quickly finished the rest of his pint—wouldn't want it to go to waste—and moved forward to deal with the situation before it escalated. Enjolras was _not_ in a good mood, and this drunken idiot had initiated physical contact from the start. He'd seen more than a few arguments turn ugly in the debriefing room after a training exercise gone wrong back at the university, and this looked like one of them, especially as it looked like the regular was launching in on a tirade and Enjolras looked like he was about to wind up for a punch.

Then Falder, one step ahead of him, moved into his peripheral vision just as he got close enough to hear the tail end of the regular's angry rant. "—and go back to your brats where you belong and leave the fighting and women to the professionals, you part-time pretender!"

That did it. Enjolras had swept the woman behind him with his right arm, which meant that he went for the punch with his left, which meant Falder was able to catch his arm before he struck a fellow officer and give Lannes enough time to get between the two men.

He looked dead into the regular's face. His breath stank of rotgut alcohol, and his eyes said this wasn't the first night he'd drunk far too much. This was going to be tricky.

"Now look," Heinrich said, "We've all had a bit to drink, and there's going to be things said we don't mean. So, why don't we all back off, calm down, and go have a drink at the bar, okay?"

"Don't think so," the regular growled. "Just going to go after you instead," he continued, and pulled his right arm back for a roundhouse punch…only to have it caught by an officer wearing the same unit tabs, who started to drag him back. This was initially unsuccessful, but then another joined him, and soon they were dragging him back across the floor.

Heinrich turned briefly to make sure Enjolras wasn't following him, and noted that Falder seemed to have calmed him down. He then looked back to see another regular standing in front of him, who stuck out his hand.

He took it, and as they shook hands the other man introduced himself in a voice perfectly pitched to keep the conversation between them. "Lieutenant Norwalk, 11th Regiment."

"Lieutenant Lannes, 3rd Milita," Heinrich replied, attempting to imitate Norwalk's pitch.

"My apologies for Lieutenant Gerstein. He's had a rough few weeks. He was on the border when the Imps rolled in, lost half his squad. Common story, really," he said as his eyes started staring past him. "When he starts blaming himself he hits the bottle, and he tries to take his frustration out on the militia."

"I understand," Heinrich said flatly, "but you might want to keep a closer eye on your friend. There could have been real trouble tonight."

A cold light flashed in Norwalk's eyes. "What do _you_ understand about it?"

"I was in the Ghirlandaio Town Watch, lieutenant. We met the Imps with three squads. By the time reinforcements showed up, we were down to two teams."

Norwalk's face softened. "So you do know something about it." He paused. "Were you an officer, then?"

"I was a corporal."

"You've got most of it, then. But there's one thing you still don't understand. When you're in charge, and your soldiers die, and you lose anyway. Best pray to whatever gods you believe in that you never do, because that's what Gerstein's going through right now." And with that, Norwalk turned on his heel and walked out after his friends as Heinrich stared after him.

"What was that all about?" Falder asked from behind him, startling him a little.

"Nothing!" he said, slightly too quickly. "How're Enjolras and the woman he was dancing with?"

"They're fine. Took themselves…elsewhere. What about you?"

"I'll be fine," he replied, still looking at the area where the regulars had gone. "Just started thinking, is all."

"Well, we can't have that," Falder chuckled as she clapped him on the back. "We stopped a fight, that calls for a beer."

"Yeah," he said as they went back to the bar, "yeah, I guess it does."

 **A/N:**

 **VVR8-thanks for the concrit, I appreciate it. Hopefully I'll have gotten better about keeping the chaos of battle in mind as the story continues. As to killing off the characters-there's not going to be a lot of that, unfortunately, largely because of Ragnaid. Part of the problem with the Valkyria Chronicles 'verse is coming up with a way to kill people off that doesn't make their fellows look like utter morons. There will be some people dying who you'll actually like, however, so don't worry on that score.**


	5. The Crossing

_The Gallian Army's logistics were badly disrupted by the speed of the Empire's advance, with much of Gallia's rolling stock, field kitchens, and the like being lost to Imperial forces. As a result, Gallia turned to new enlistees and the militia to fill in the gaps. This led to interesting times…_

Excerpted with permission from _A Social History of the Second Europan War,_ Amalie Rigolet; Varrot Books, 1973

Lannes stood on the roof of what had been a department store and looked bleakly at the vista in front of him. The regiment had managed to contain the Imps' bridgehead, and even push them back a little, but the militia had arrived one squad at a time, and the Vasel Defense Battalion had fallen back out of contact.

As a result, the Imps had been able to recover quite well from their initial surprise at being counterattacked, and had managed to set up tank traps, sandbags, and sniper's nests along the perimeter and in depth, at least according to Traherne. It would be grenade, MAG, and bayonet work to pry the Imps out of there, and Lannes wasn't looking forward to it. The instructors at the university had said urban warfare was unpleasant even for elite soldiers attacking raw recruits—he didn't even want to think about going up against Imperial regulars with barely-trained militia.

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs behind him, but didn't turn.

"Lieutenant."

"Sergeant Traherne."

"Everyone's settled in, sir."

"That's good."

"Lieutenant Lannes," a voice said from behind him, and he turned to see one of the staffers from Varrot's HQ.

"Yes, Corporal?" he asked.

"Some of the survivors of the Vasel Defense Battalion are coming to relieve your squad, Lieutenant. Captain Varrot wants you to fill in their commander, then move your men down to the riverbank."

"Did she say why, Corporal?"

"No sir."

"Tell her I will begin moving when the relief arrives. How far away are they?"

"Thirty minutes away, sir."

"Good. Dismissed."

"Yes sir," the corporal replied, saluted, and jogged off.

"Sergeant."

"Sir."

"Tell the men we might be moving out soon."

"Yes, sir."

Lannes looked out at the Imperial lines. Maybe his men weren't going to get thrown into a meatgrinder.

Or maybe they were.

Thirty minutes later, he heard the tramp of marching feet behind him and went to meet the men whose failure had put him in this position.

"Captain," he said to the man at the head of the column, presuming that the tall aristocratic-looking fellow with the officer's cap was the leader.

"Lieutenant," the leader of the column replied. "Your men are up ahead?"

"Three blocks, sir. We've got sandbags and other positions prepared. Sergeant Traherne," he waved and heard the man come forward, "will guide your men into position. Which of your squads is taking this position?"

The captain grimaced. "The survivors of 1st and 2nd companies," he said bitterly.

Something of Lannes' surprise must have shown, because he chuckled harshly. "Imps came down the river on rafts right before dawn and hit the bridge on this side of the river with two assault companies. Then, when we focused on them, two more assault companies with light tank support hit the other side. 1st and 2nd were on the other side of the river." He sighed. "Lieutenant Mattin," he said, turning his head to the man behind and to his right, "lead the men in. Lieutenant...?"

"Lannes, sir."

"Once the men are in place, could you give Lieutenant Mattin an overview of the situation?"

Lannes bristled. As if he'd do anything else.

"Yes, sir," he replied, barely managing to keep his tone on the proper side of hostile.

The captain nodded in acknowledgement, and stuck out his hand. "We seem to have begun badly. I'm Captain Ritterbach. What can you tell me about the situation?"

"Unless the Imps've brought up reinforcements, you should be able to hold without a problem. Between this morning and now, we think the original assault force is at half-strength, maybe less, and from what we can tell, they haven't gotten more than two companies' worth of reinforcements."

Ritterbach grimaced. "Pushing them back over the river is going to be unpleasant."

"Probably, sir. Maybe we'll be able to put the bridge under enough fire to keep them from getting supplies over."

"Don't count on it, Lieutenant. We won't be getting enough fire support for that to make a difference." Ritterbach looked him in the eye. "Tomorrow's going to be bloody, Lieutenant. Understand that before anything else."

"Yes sir."

"Good," he replied, and his face softened. "That was good work with that ambush back there."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to see to the rest of my men."

"Of course, sir."

"Good hunting, Lieutenant."

After briefing Mattin—a short, balding man who nevertheless had managed to hold together his companies in a fighting retreat across Vasel Bridge under fire from two directions—Lannes, guided by the same orderly who'd informed him that his squad was being relieved, led his men back to Varrot's new headquarters a few blocks from the river. The sun was just going down, and he was ready to find out where his men were going to be billeted for the night as he stepped through the door.

"Lieutenant Lannes and Squad 2, reporting as ordered, ma'am," he said, snapping a salute as he closed the door behind him.

"Lieutenant," Varrot replied. "It's good to see you here so soon."

"Ma'am?"

"Lieutenant Gunther has come up with a way to allow us to take the bridge without having to fight house-to-house tomorrow, and is making necessary preparations now."

"What's he doing?"

"He's preparing the _Edelweiss_ to go across the river in what he says is a shallow spot. Once it's across, the rest of his squad will follow and set up guide ropes to the other bank."

"I take it Squad Two is to be the follow-up, ma'am?"

Varrot nodded. "Correct. Your squad is the most rested one used to working without a tank, which makes you the best option to reinforce Squad 7."

"Understood, ma'am," Lannes replied. "When do we cross?"

"Move your squad down to where Gunther's squad is. You'll attempt to cross immediately after they do. We don't have many boats, though, so there won't be any rush until Gunther's squad is all across."

"Understood, ma'am."

"Good."

As Lannes turned, saluted, and left, he thought to himself, _I really hope this plan works. Because otherwise we're going to be left swinging in the breeze._

Lannes sat in the breeze on a pile of rubble that looked like it had been a shop of some kind before the Imps had come in and wrecked the place and hummed contentedly as he looked down the highway in the direction of Ghirlandaio.

The plan had, remarkably, gone off with barely a hitch. The _Edelweiss_ had made it across the river and protected the landing site while the first team from Squad 7 rowed across the river with the guide ropes and pulley system. The next team had made it across in about two minutes, and they'd waited long enough to get him and Traherne's team across the river before they moved to the bridge.

Once they'd set up a perimeter to cover them from any patrols that might come their way, they'd had to sit and wait. That had been a nerve-wracking few minutes, particularly when they'd noticed Imp troops starting to move towards the river from the other side just as Yancey's team made it across and sent the boats back to start picking up Lieutenant Falder's Squad 6.

Things had gotten even more nerve-wracking when they heard the sounds of fighting erupt from the vicinity of the bridge. Lannes had found himself having to restrain his fingers from tapping his MAG as he waited for Falder and her first team to get across the river so he could get to the fighting and hopefully help take this end of the bridge and the control room—and why had the idiots who built the bridge put the control room on the side of the river opposite Randgriz?—but there really wasn't much time and the Imps were getting closer to the bridge—no, in fact they were _on_ the bridge.

Then, just as their reinforcements landed and Lannes prepared to move his squad to hopefully keep the Imps back, the firing began to taper off, and the bridge began to rise, with Imperial troops apparently still on it, as he started hearing screaming and the sounds of tanks revving into high gear as they tried to avoid a watery grave.

Most of them, judging by the sounds carrying over the river, failed.

By morning, four squads of the 3rd were over the river and had set up defenses that would take some time to reduce, the 10th and 11th Militia had shown up, and the Imperial commander had realized that he and his men were not getting out of this. He could resist, but most of their supplies had been on the other side of the river, and even if a relief force arrived, the bridge controls were easily destroyable.

He'd surrendered his men within an hour of dawn, and within two hours of that, the Gallian reinforcements had pushed over the river and reclaimed Vasel, while Ritterbach and his men had taken the Imperials into custody and the 3rd had reunited on the other side of the river from where they'd started. After all, a reserve might be necessary.

It was the first offensive victory of the war for Gallia, and Lannes was proud to be a part of it.

There was just one small problem.

They were out of food.

Due to "supply issues," they had not been carrying three days' worth of rations with them while they were training. They had been carrying enough for a day and a night, in addition to their emergency iron rations, and that was it. In the hurry to get to Vasel, they hadn't been issued any more rations, and Lannes hadn't been able to get more from the quartermaster—and Varrot had forgotten that her troops weren't carrying the regulation amount of food, so she hadn't mentioned this to the higher-ups.

As a result, the 3rd Militia consisted of two hundred hungry soldiers, and Lannes suspected that some of them had already done a little unauthorized foraging. He wasn't going to ask any questions as long as nobody flaunted it, but that sort of thing was very bad for discipline. Which was why he'd sent Sergeant Traherne back to headquarters to investigate when the field kitchens were supposed to show up.

If they didn't show in the next couple of hours, he was going to have to order his troops to dig into their iron rations, which he was loath to do. On the other hand, better that than the inevitable looting that would occur if he had to set them to scavenging food. Or, maybe they could find an abandoned restaurant and "requisition" the kitchen? No, that could really backfire, but…

"Lieutenant!" he heard Traherne call, and he stood and turned to find out what the sergeant had learned as he came up to him.

"Any news, Sergeant?"

"Kitchens were less than half an hour away when I got there, sir. Going to be setting up back by the bridge. Captain requests that all squads return there soon."

"Wonderful," he replied, then turned around to where his soldiers were lying on the sidewalks, utterly exhausted and largely dead to the world. "Chow call!"

 _That_ got the attention of the few who remained awake, and within thirty seconds, and after much poking and prodding, everyone was moving down the street, in diamond formation, just in case Imps somehow made it into the city. Nobody wanted overconfidence to get them killed.

When they arrived at the field kitchens—which bore a startling resemblance to the food trucks he remembered from Randgriz—two of the squads has already arrived, but they were going through the line very quickly. The fact that there wasn't any choice about what to eat definitely made things faster, Lannes noted wryly as he saw that all the mess kits had the same food in them.

So, with his men, he knelt down and fished his kit out of his pack, making sure that he took a little longer than the others, and was, therefore, last in line. There were rules, after all. As he got up, he noticed that the men and women under the tents weren't wearing regular Gallian army uniforms, which was odd. The cut was a little different, and the blue looked a little paler. Then he after he slung his MAG over his shoulder and got a little closer, he noticed that the woman dispensing coffee at the far end of the line looked oddly familiar, but she had her head turned away from him, and the bill of her cap obscured her face.

After having some sort of unidentifiable meat and vegetable stew dropped unceremoniously onto his plate, followed by the heel of a loaf of black bread, and thanking the rather tired-looking servers, he stepped in front of the woman and intended to ask for coffee.

Instead, the moment he got a good look at her, he said, "Julia?"

"Heinrich?"

"What are you doing here?" Heinrich asked, aware even as he said it that he was asking a very stupid question.

Remarkably, Julia only—if she'd been a man, he would have said that she chuckled, but it was slightly too high-pitched for that—and replied, "I don't have time to talk now." She nodded towards the next squad coming in, which looked like Falder's, as she took his cup to fill it. "How long will you be around?"

Heinrich shrugged. "I'm not sure. Probably for an hour at least. I'll be over there." He gestured towards where most of his troops were gathered around Traherne, Yancey, and Rogers.

She smiled and handed his cup back. "Good."

Heinrich walked over to the rest of his squad, taking care not to trip and spill the soup or the coffee, and seated himself carefully on the side of a miraculously undamaged flower bed, far enough away to where they could talk without him, but close enough to where they knew they could come over to talk, and began to eat.

The meat in the stew was overcooked pork, the bread was underbaked, and the coffee was acrid. It was also one of the best meals he'd ever tasted, and just as he was mopping up the last of the stew with the last of the bread, he looked up and realized that the entire regiment was in the square, chewing and chatting happily away. He looked over towards the field kitchen, and noticed that Julia wasn't there.

Then he noticed motion out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see her standing at the end of the flower bed. "Do you mind if I sit down?" she asked, and Heinrich shook his head.

She sat down next to him and leaned back to look up at the sky, and he resolutely did his best not to notice the very interesting things that did to her shirt.

"To finally answer your question," she began as she turned her head toward him, "it's…complicated. Five minutes after you left, we got a messenger from the mayor's office telling everyone to get to the train station by noon, with only two suitcases apiece, so they could pull us back to Masha and keep us off the roads. That part wasn't especially wrenching—you know I hadn't been in town long."

Heinrich nodded. Julia had lived in one of the rooms at the same boardinghouse he'd been staying in until he could save up enough to put a down payment on a house—in fact, she'd lived on the floor above him. Since they were mostly meant for transients and new arrivals, the rooms didn't have room for a lot of stuff.

"Getting out wasn't that bad, though. I mean, we could see the Watch running around and the wounded start to come in, hear the artillery fire at the Citadel, but no one panicked. We thought it wouldn't be on for long."

She sighed.

"Then the train didn't stop at Masha. We had to get off in Eindon, then walk the rest of the way to the refugee camps. Those were bad." She shivered a little. "All those people. Crammed together, and there weren't facilities available to take care of them. Some had family in the south, so they could go stay with them. Then they came and asked for volunteers for the Auxiliary."

"They were actually canvassing for volunteers?"

"Yes. A lot of the regular field support units were overrun, and…"

"And the militia's logistic capabilities are terrible," Heinrich finished sourly. Julia gave him an odd look, and Heinrich made a gesture of apology. "Sorry for interrupting. It's just that I had that brought home to me today. There's a reason no one's complaining about the food right now."

"Oh!" Julia exclaimed. "I wondered why no one was complaining—we don't have experience cooking for this many people, with, ah…"

"Ingredients bought from the lowest bidder?"

"Yes. To tell the truth, I don't have much experience cooking at all," she said, swinging her legs a little. Heinrich was grateful that, unlike Yancey, Julia wore pants. "But they said they needed people who knew logistics. Well, I did, and, well, I…" her voice trailed off.

"You weren't sure if you could kill someone."

"Yes."

"It's not something you're ever sure of, 'til you pull the trigger," Heinrich replied. "I know I didn't know I could 'til I did it," he continued, stopping when he realized that Julia was giving him—not an odd look, but one he'd never seen before. "But, enough of that," he said, changing the subject. "Who ended up where?"

She brightened a bit at that, and began to rattle off where everyone had gotten off to. Most of the town was still in the refugee camps, although many had answered the call-up to either the militia or the Auxiliary. Not everything had ended well, though, and as she kept talking she got more and more crestfallen.

"And," she said at the end, "Mr. Vredefort never showed up at the station. Nobody saw him leave, ever. Did you ever see him?"

Heinrich shook his head. "Nobody I know of. But, then again, there weren't a lot of us who left Ghirlandaio. He might've fallen in with some of Dordt's men who didn't make it out." He winced as he remembered the retreat.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Here I've talked about how bad a time I had, and you had to fight your way out of the town while watching our friends die around you."

"I knew what I was signing up for," Heinrich said flatly. "Yeah, I had it worse than you, absolutely speaking, but at least I had some kind of preparation for it. You never signed up to be stuck on the front lines of a war. You don't have to apologize to me for your unhappiness, although I do appreciate it."

"Thank you," Julia replied, her voice unwarrantedly tremulous. "You don't need my problems in addition to yours."

He shrugged. "It's kind of nice to hear about things that are actually semi-normal. How's the Auxiliary?"

"It's not bad. Most of the people are okay—there's a lot of soldier's wives, and they've been a big help to the rest of us."

Heinrich nodded, then looked a little closer at Julia's uniform. "I see you made corporal. Good job."

Julia blushed a little. "It's just because they wanted a noncom taking care of the books."

He snorted. "Trust me. If they didn't think you could handle it, they would've found a workaround. Come to think of it, shouldn't you be…"

"Helping clean up?" she finished for him. "No, I cleared it with Sergeant Frake. We're overstaffed, honestly, and the converted food trucks we're using don't have a lot of room. Everyone's taken some time out after a meal to talk to somebody they know."

"Good. Didn't want you getting in trouble."

"It's good to talk with you, but it's not _that_ good," she teased.

Heinrich placed his hand over his heart. "I am deeply, deeply offended by the fact that you do not consider the conversations you could have with me worth disciplinary action."

She laughed at that. "I've missed you."

"Same. Having some of the members of the Watch in the squad's helped, but it's good to see someone who knew you from somewhere not having to do with the army."

"How is everyone?" Julia asked softly. "The survivors, I mean."

"I can't speak for everyone," Heinrich replied, turning his head to look over at where Yancey and Rogers were playing off each other, much to the delight of the rest. "But everyone who ended up here seems to be fitting in okay. No friction between them and the rest because they know me—or if there has been my attention hasn't been required."

He looked a little closer and smiled slightly. Todt and Ivor were continuing to sit a bit closer to each other than before, and Friedrich was starting to actually come into the circle. Falken, Guildenstern—who'd shifted to shocktrooper—and van Reenan all looked like they belonged there. Traherne must have somehow felt him staring in their direction, because he turned and nodded at him as if to say that everything was fine.

"You care for them," he heard Julia say quietly.

"They're my responsibility," he replied at the same volume. "I've failed those I had charge of before. I won't do it again."

"You won't."

"You seem awfully confident."

"Well…" Julia's response was cut off when a voice from the kitchen yelled "Corporal! We need your help with the takedown!"

"Coming!" she replied, then turned back to him. "It was good talking with you," she said awkwardly as she stood. "Hopefully I'll see you again soon."

"I'd like that," Heinrich said as he stood as well.

"Oh, I almost forgot, here, take this," she got out in a rush as she pressed something into his hand, then ran over to where they were preparing the kitchens to move out.

Heinrich looked down at the piece of paper in his right palm with some degree of surprise. It was her mailing address.

"Did you know her from before the war, sir?" Traherne said from behind him, and Lannes nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Don't _do_ that, Sergeant," he reproved. "My heart doesn't need that kind of abuse. And, yes. We worked at the same import/export company in Ghirlandaio."

Traherne nodded. "She seems like a nice girl."

"She is." Lannes gave the sergeant a skeptical look. "Are you implying something, Sergeant?"

"No sir," he replied. "Just that she's so far outside your chain of command that you might as well not even be from the same country."

"There is something vaguely strange about a sergeant matchmaking his lieutenant."

"Just offering the lieutenant the voice of experience, sir."

"Yes. I presume you didn't just come over here to do that?"

"No sir. Captain's compliments, and there's a debriefing in five minutes in that building over there." Traherne pointed to what looked like an abandoned bar on the side of the square.

"Thank you Sergeant," Lannes replied as he put the paper very carefully in his shirt pocket. "I'll be right over there."

When Lannes and Traherne stepped in, the bar was already crowded with officers and squad sergeants. "Heinrich!" he heard someone say, and turned to see a grinning Nowicky sticking out his hand.

"Claremont," Lannes replied, sticking out his in return and shaking it. "How are you?"

"Heard 'bout your ambush from Private Cresce. Smooth piece of work. Not as slick as Gunther's crossing, but a sight better than what I was able to pull."

"She gave us good intel, and my squad are good soldiers. You could've done the same."

"That's as may be, but…"

"Attention!" Falder's squad sergeant, an oak of a man named Blau, yelled, and all conversation ceased as Captain Varrot entered the room.  
"At ease, soldiers," she said quietly, waited a moment, then continued. "First, I want to tell you that I'm proud of all of you. This battle was won in the finest traditions of the 3rd Militia. Second, I want to apologize for the supply failure. Failing to ensure that we had adequate rations was my fault, and we will never march without them again. Third," her eyes swept the room, "we're being pulled back to the camp."

That created a hubbub. "We're not staying here, ma'am?" Barthelmy asked.

"No. Our orders are to rest and refit before moving to our next assignment. Apparently the regulars are taking over here."

"Do you know where we're going, ma'am?"

"I don't think they know where we're going, Lieutenant," Varrot said dryly to a burst of laughter. "But get your troops ready; we move out in thirty minutes."


	6. Into the Wildwood

_While highly regarded by naturalists, hikers, hermits, and the Gallian military, the Kloden Wildwood was utterly detested by Imperial and Federation strategists for the limitations it imposed on invading forces. Even people who knew the woods well often got lost in them, and contours that looked smooth on a map tended to conceal sudden cliffs, while the road network was both scanty and unpaved._

 _Radi Jaeger, however, advised Prince Maximilian that this made the area a perfect spot to route supplies through. While this worked out remarkably well, it did have its pitfalls…_

Excerpted with permission from _A History of the Second Europan War_ , William Hackett; University of Chimay; 1968

"Join the militia, they said," Lannes heard Yancey mutter. "It will be fun, they said. You'll be fighting the Imps, they said. They didn't say _anything_ about this."

He considered saying something to her, but decided against it. First, he could barely hear her, and since she was right behind him, the others probably couldn't hear her at all. Second, complaining was the time-honored right of the soldier, as long as it didn't become outright insubordination. Third…as he looked around at the narrow path, tangled trees, and hilly terrain, and contemplated how bad he almost certainly smelled from the sweat, he really couldn't disagree.

They'd had two weeks for further training and shakedown after Vasel, but the counterattacks that had begun after the recapture of Vasel Bridge had been stalled after some initial successes caused by Imperial overextension. However, the Wildwood Rangers, a militia unit comprised of the local foresters, had discovered that the Imps were running a lot of their supplies through the area, and informed the high command, who immediately grasped the importance of the information and also understood that the regulars were stretched thin.

Which was why the 3rd, and several other militia regiments, without a single regular unit backing them, were pushing into the Wildwood. This wouldn't have been a problem, except for the part where the Rangers were also overstretched, and guides were being shuffled between squads. _At least,_ Lannes thought, _we're in reserve, and_ not _stumbling blindly forward into the trees._

That was thin comfort, though, because the reason Squads 2, 6, and 8 were being held in reserve was because there still weren't enough tanks to give every squad the one regulations said they were supposed to have. Hopefully, there wouldn't be any Imp tanks in the woods.

Hopefully. That was not a good word to use.

He'd kept walking as he considered how he'd gotten to be here, which meant that he rounded a bend in the path—and found out that the path split. And there were tracks moving down both paths. It looked like Squads 1 and 3 had split here.

Wonderful. Split the squad, push down just one, or wait here?

Lannes looked at his watch. It had been nearly an hour and a half since their last stop. He turned and gave the signal to halt and rest. Some of the scouts fanned out, while the rest of the soldiers sat down to slump against trees and the slopes on either side of the road.

He, however, broke out his map and the overlay he'd made with a pencil and some wax paper. Squad 1 was supposed to move down the path to the left, which wound around through the hills until it eventually met the path Squad 3 was supposed to take around five miles down. And it looked like the furthest the paths diverged from each other was about half-a-mile, and the terrain between the paths wasn't _too_ rugged, although going over the ridge would slow them down.

He considered the possibilities. Landzaat's Squad 1 was, as near as he knew, swinging in the breeze. They were on the regiment's left flank, and the 9th was somewhere two miles away, which in a firefight in this forest meant that they might as well be on the moon. Also, following Nowicky's Squad Three didn't mean being any closer to the rest of the regiment in any sort of real sense.

Counterbalancing that, the truth was that he trusted Landzaat to not get in trouble more than he trusted Nowicky. The former was careful, and had a good notion of when to go for the throat and when not to. The latter—was not and did not. On the other hand…Lannes looked at the map again. Nowicky's route ran through a fairly narrow gap, while Landzaat's was a bit wider. It honestly looked like it would be more difficult to really mousetrap the former, while the latter was more obviously vulnerable, and that seemed to be about as tactically sophisticated as the Imps got.

"Sir," he heard Traherne say behind him, and he turned to wave him forward. "Trying to figure which squad to follow, sir?" Traherne asked softly.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only to me, sir, but I've been shepherding lieutenants off and on since the first war," the sergeant said with a slight smile. "The others just think you're taking the opportunity to make sure we aren't lost."

Lannes grunted. "I'm thinking we follow Landzaat. If he runs into opposition, we should be able to deploy more easily than if we follow Nowicky," he said, running his finger along the two routes.

Traherne nodded. "Makes sense to me, sir. You're not splitting the squad?"

Lannes shook his head. "Concentration, sergeant. Splitting the squad means we won't be able to turn the tide wherever we are. Also," he nodded to the rear of the squad, where Fina was chatting with Yancey and Rogers, "we've got the medic for all three squads with us. Finally, whichever team I send is going to end up under someone else's command. No thanks."

"Yes sir," Traherne replied, and Lannes thought he heard a hint of concern.

He dismissed the thought, and lifted his canteen to his lips, took a couple of swigs, then stoppered it and wiped his mouth. "Let's move, Sergeant."

"Yes sir."

As they moved further down the forest path, Lannes found himself hoping that they wouldn't encounter the Imps before the squads managed to come together. If they were _really_ lucky, the whole regiment might be together again. However, he also ordered the squad to shift into diamond formation, figuring that this would be about the right time to run into an Imp ambush.

He was, however, surprised when the signal he saw from Traherne was not "enemy contact" but "firefight." He held up his hand to call a halt, and listened for a moment. Yes, that was definitely gunfire and explosions in the distance. Half-a-mile, probably.

He nodded. Concentration. He signaled Traherne to move forward, slowly, and shift from general recon to contact formation, and signaled Yancey to move within supporting distance of Traherne. He then looked at Cranmer and Engels, and nodded to them. They moved forward without a word. They knew their business.

He moved forward as quickly as he could, falling into place by the sergeant "What's it sound like to you?" he asked quietly.

"Couple of Imp scout squads," Traherne replied quietly. "If Landzaat's been able to get in close, he should be fine. Imp scouts aren't bad at recon, but they can't shoot to save their lives."

Lannes nodded. That Imp guns tended to sacrifice accuracy and range for power didn't matter too much for submachineguns, but it mattered a _lot_ for rifles.

Yancey came up to them, at the front of her team, Rogers looming behind her. "What's the plan, sir?"

Lannes paused as his mind raced briefly. "We move in echelon. Traherne, take the lead. Yancey, slightly behind and to the right. When Traherne makes contact, shift right and take 'em from behind. I'll be in the center to coordinate. Any questions?"

The sergeants shook their heads.  
"Let's go. Quickly," he said, the order punctuated by the flat crack of a Gallian sniper rifle.

The squads moved out, Lannes noticing with approval that they maintained contact formation—scouts in front, shocktroopers and lancers following, engineers and medic in the rear—where the snipers should be as well, according to doctrine, but Lannes had never thought that made any sense, and Traherne had agreed with him. As the latter had put it, "I've never known a sniper who actually worked better around other people."

The firing got louder as they moved forward, and soon they were able to distinguish between Gallian and Imperial weapons, and, without an order from him, Traherne adjusted his team so his left flank would come into contact with Landzaat's right, and Yancey shifted her team to the right as well.

Lannes was happy.

Cranmer and Engels fired every minute or so, taking out scouts as they came across them.

Traherne's team made contact five minutes after they heard the firing. Lannes was somewhat surprised when they did, because the scouts from both sides started firing nearly simultaneously.

 _Guess they were alerted by the sniper rifles,_ he thought as he waved Yancey's team to form on Traherne's right to flank them.

Then he stopped for a moment and listened to the volume of fire. _They've only pulled a fire team to stop us_ , he realized, and as he opened his mouth Traherne yelled at his lancers to clear a path, and they blew the Imps' cover away. By the time Yancey had formed on his flank, he and his scouts had finished off the fire team, and they moved forward again, together.

Thirty seconds later, they ran into another hail of gunfire, much more intense this time, and Lannes snarled as he saw Seydlitz drop, although he felt a brief flash of admiration for the Imp squad commander. It took quick thinking and ruthlessness to send a fire team to delay an unknown force while extracting the rest of your men from a firefight in order to form a defensive line.

He heard a sniper rifle crack, hoped that commander was down for the count, and looked up. Traherne's team was taking cover, Landzaat's men were twigging to the fact that they had reinforcements, and it looked like Yancey's team was in position to flank.

He grinned. The books weren't balanced yet. He looked over at Yancey and moved his right arm in a sweeping motion. She nodded, and began to motion to her team. Her scouts moved forward, quick and quiet.

Then the flank guards dropped from sniper rounds, and Lannes threw that plan out the window, got up, and exploded forward. He thought he heard Yancey yell "Follow me!" but looking to see to if anyone was following wasn't an option, and he picked out his target, the rightmost shocktrooper, flank uncovered due to the dead scouts. Said shocktrooper was so focused on Traherne's team that he didn't notice Lannes coming for him until he was in range.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

The Imp was down, and Lannes dropped into a crouch behind a fallen log to reload as Yancey and her shocktroopers plowed in behind him, and he heard rifles crack as her scouts took out some Imps who'd been so incautious as to stand up.

They needed to get this done quickly, so the moment he seated the magazine he vaulted the log, and was gratified to see Traherne's shocktroopers moving forward under cover fire from him, his engineers, and his scouts.

No one was shooting at him presently, so he took a moment to observe the battlefield. It looked like Landzaat's squad had bent into a horseshoe, with his tank sitting right behind the apex, and now that the Imp squad on this side was in full retreat he was pulling the team that had been facing them to reinforce the other.

Wait...in full retreat?

Lannes looked ahead. Yes, yes they were—and they were running back for the trail intersection. _Excellent._

He thought to himself for a moment. This could get complicated, but his sergeants were very, very good at what they did, and he was giving Traherne the hard part. Now where were his sergeants?

There was Yancey, waving her team forward into the firefight—good, he wouldn't have to change their orders—and where was Traherne…oh, there he was, and he was looking at him. He signaled him to take his team forward and harry the retreating Imps. Traherne acknowledged and signaled his team, and Lannes moved forward into the fire as an Imp shocktrooper paused to take a shot at him and was brought down by a sniper's round.

Five minutes later, the battle was over. The Imps on the latter's left had fallen apart once Landzaat's tank had gone on the offensive and hit their right flank while Yancey's team had hit their rear. When that happened, the only thing they could do was stand and die or surrender.

They'd split about fifty/fifty.

Fina was running around stabilizing Landzaat's casualties, Traherne had halted two hundred yards north and Yancey had gone to join him, while Landzaat's teams recharged from the firefight as Imperial wounded groaned in agony and the prisoners looked around nervously.

The lieutenants, meantime, were discussing their next move.

"My men aren't in any shape to push forward," Landzaat said flatly. "A quarter of them are badly wounded, and the others are worn-out, and that's not even considering the prisoners. We need at least half-an-hour."

Lannes nodded grudgingly, although he didn't like the options Landzaat making that decision gave him. He did not want to keep pushing up the trail alone, but they did need to get moving.

"Then again, I haven't gotten any communication from Nowicky since about two minutes before the Imps sprang that ambush. But that could mean anything. These hills make radio transmission utterly unreliable, and you can't actually hear anything." Landzaat paused, and Lannes decided to let him continue down this line of thought.

"We probably do need to go," he said heavily as he ran his hand through his red hair, and Lannes restrained the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. "Sergeant Osric's team got hit the hardest. I'll leave them here to guard the prisoners and the wounded once Fina's stabilized them. Do you have any casualties?"

Lannes shrugged. "A couple. We'll take the lead."

Landzaat nodded. "Thanks. We should take Fina with us, so we'll still have to wait here for a few minutes."

"Not a problem. My squad's still pretty keyed up. Also, I need to find out where my snipers are."

The other lieutenant laughed. "That's no great shock. I'm not sure where mine are right—oh, there they are," he exclaimed as two women stepped forward out of the trees.

"Mine are probably with my squad, then," Lannes said. "We'll move out when you do."

* * *

As Lannes' squad moved towards where the trails met again after their split, Landzaat's following a minute behind them, they were ready to encounter anything short of an Imperial tank company.

What they encountered, when they reached it, was rather more disturbing.

Absolutely nothing.

Lannes noted that there were plenty of tracks going towards where he and Landzaat had run into the Imps, several tracks going away from that location, and plenty going down the other trail, but none moving back towards where the Imps' base supposedly was, and no sign of any Gallian tracks anywhere. Admittedly, they'd moved out less than ten minutes after his conversation with Landzaat had ended, and it had been less than an hour after that that they'd arrived here, but there should have been some sign of Nowicky's squad.

So, Lannes deployed Yancey's team to cover the main trail, Traherne's team to cover the one they hadn't come up, and tried to figure out how to explain his worries to Landzaat.

As it turned out, he didn't have to, because Traherne and his scouts started firing right as Landzaat's tank came into his field of vision. He turned to see what looked like the survivors of two Imp squads coming right towards them…and were those…

"Cranmer! Engels!" he yelled, but the two snipers had already seen the Gatling crews heading towards them, and Lannes knew what had happened to Nowicky's squad as sure as the sunrise.

But now all there was left to do was avenge them, and he charged forward as one of the crews dropped.

The Imps had been caught nearly unawares, and the sight of Landzaat's tank was obviously not one they had expected. As a result, instead of doing what he'd feared they'd do and just charging ahead to run his position over and make their escape, they went to ground.

But the passage had narrowed, and there wasn't a lot of room. Which meant that the scouts and engineers traded fire while the shocktroopers waited for a target to come in range and the snipers nailed the second Gatling crew—and Landzaat's tank rolled by him, halted in the middle of the roadway, and gracefully arced a mortar round to one side of the trail.

Seeing nearly half-a-dozen Imps fly into the air filled Lannes with fierce joy, and he was almost disappointed when the survivors raised their hands to surrender.

But then the adrenaline faded, and he was glad that no one else would die this day.

Nine.

That was how many of Squad Three had made it through the ambush that had been sprung on them less than a mile from the intersection in fighting condition. The map, as it turned out, hadn't been wrong. There wasn't enough space between the hills to fit more than a squad.

Unfortunately, that squad had been a garrison squad who'd hauled their Gatlings with them. Half of Nowicky's lead team had gone down in the first blast, and he'd rolled his tank forward to provide cover fire as the survivors raced to secure their fallen comrades.

They'd done so, but Nowicky had lingered a little too long forward of his squad, the Imps' lancers had blown his treads off, and a particularly courageous shocktrooper had gotten in behind his tank and fired his entire magazine into the radiator.

He'd gone down in a hail of vengeful gunfire a moment later, but it had been too late for the lieutenant, and the Imps had pushed forward under cover fire from the Gatlings to finish the squad off. However, the survivors of the force Landzaat had hit had arrived to tell them they were about to be outflanked before they'd had time to finish off Squad 3, and so the ragged survivors had been able to at least attempt to stabilize the wounded.

Most of them had died before Fina arrived, Lieutenant Nowicky among them. Despite this, the survivors, led by the senior surviving noncom, Sergeant Rob Shriver, had almost demanded to go forward with the others.

Lannes' first instinct had been to refuse. Someone needed to guard the prisoners, after all, and it made sense for the unit that was the least combat-effective to do it. Then Lannes had noticed Private Cresce in particular had a distinctly murderous look on her face, and realized that "shot while attempting to escape" was a _distinct_ possibility.

So they left Landzaat's other team at the intersection with the prisoners and the wounded, and moved up the trail towards their objective, hoping to not run into another ambush.

They didn't.

In fact, they didn't run into anything at all.

They made it to the outpost that had been their preliminary objective nearly an hour behind schedule, and found that it was completely abandoned. All that was left was a few boxes of food and ammunition that had been left behind during the evacuation, which the engineers checked for traps before the troops started eating the former. After all, you never knew when resupply was coming, although the general assessment was that Imp rations weren't nearly as good as Gallian.

While the troops ate while rotating guard duty on the perimeter, Lannes and Landzaat discussed what to do next while standing next to the latter's tank. There were two trails leading away from here, one going north and one going east. The Imp tracks all led east, toward where the main base was, which was also where they were supposed to go. Unfortunately, there were certain issues with that plan.

First, the original plan had involved all three squads attacking the outpost, then leaving one behind while the other two moved to attack the main base.

Second, the plan had involved actually knowing where the enemy was. As matters stood, they didn't know that.

Third, they couldn't raise Varrot on the radio and tell her what had happened.

It was most inconvenient, but they agreed that they needed to move forward. Unfortunately, they disagreed on who needed to be going forward.

"If you go without tank support, you'll be slaughtered," Landzaat hissed.

"And if the Imps hit this place and your tank isn't here, what's left of Squad 3 is going to get slaughtered. Maybe your squad's going to make it up here soon—and if they did, I'd still want to take the Threes with me and leave your squad here—but we don't know when that's going to happen," Lannes replied quietly but vehemently. Raising one's voice in argument with another officer in a combat zone was generally considered bad for morale.

He then noticed Traherne and Shriver coming over, and was wondering what advice the old sergeants were going to give them when he heard the radio crackle and a voice that sounded a lot like Varrot's came out, although since it was in the tank he couldn't hear what she was saying.

Landzaat scrambled up and into the tank, then popped out of it with his headset on.

"Captain Varrot?...Yes ma'am…I'm at the outpost with Squad 2 and what's left of Squad 3…We only got here fifteen minutes ago, ma'am…Ran into Imperial troops, ma'am, in company strength…Squad 3 got mousetrapped, ma'am, and Lieutenant Nowicky's dead…My squad's guarding the prisoners, ma'am." Lannes could tell, judging from the increasing effort Landzaat seemed to be putting in to maintain his self-control, that both he and Varrot were very unhappy.

"Yes ma'am…Understood ma'am, we'll begin moving immediately…Yes ma'am." He put the receiver and microphone back inside the tank, leaned against the side of the hatch, and sighed wearily before he spoke.

"They've already taken the main base."

Lannes had to restrain his jaw from dropping. "What?"

"Apparently Lieutenant Gunther and Squad 7 followed a game trail, avoided an ambush, and stumbled on the Imps' main base. Apparently General Jaeger showed up then, and they drove him off, but not before they had time to evacuate the area."

"When did all this happen?"

"It all ended forty-five minutes ago," Landzaat replied wearily. "Also, reports from the 9th are that they've got us covered, so we can move towards the rest of the regiment, no problem. We've also got follow-up troops coming our way, so she wants me to stay here and wait for my squad. You're to take your squad and Shriver down the trail to the main base as fast as possible."

"Right. Traherne?"

"Yes, sir. Yancey! We're moving out now!"

"What a mess," Lannes heard Landzaat mutter under his breath as Shriver, Traherne, and Yancey got the troops together. He pretended not to hear it.


	7. Interlude: Letters from War I

_The Second Europan War was, in many ways, far more disruptive for Gallia than the first one. For one thing, Imperial forces nearly reached Randgriz, while they did not make it far past the Naggiar Plains during the first war, which created many more refugees and disrupted transportation networks. For another, the changes that had occurred during the first war hadn't had time to settle out yet…_

Excerpted with permission from _A Social History of the Second Europan War_ , Amalie Rigolet; Varrot Books, 1973

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
March 12, 1935

Dad,

I'm sorry that I've taken so long to write to you to say that I was alive. Your letter didn't reach me until today—I suppose because of the war—and even if it had gotten here earlier, there hasn't really been a chance to write until today.

Everything is going as well as could be expected. I can't say much about what happened at Ghirlandaio, but it wasn't as one-sided as the Imp propaganda claims it was. As to the mobilization, you probably know than I do, but so far everyone's come in on schedule.

More personally, as you can see by the letterhead, I'm a lieutenant now. Technically, I was one the day the war started, but notification took a little while. The other lieutenants in the regiment are easy to work with, as is the regimental commander. Also, the squad is still shaping up, but I have good noncoms, one of whom fought in the last war, and there's a decent leavening of veterans.

I'm glad to hear that you and Mom are doing well, and don't worry too much about Jeanne. They won't be sending the Auxiliary to where the fighting is. Also, the refugees are probably already there. I don't expect you to take them in—I know how small the house is. But try to help if you can, especially because you shouldn't need to for long. We'll have the Imps gone soon enough.

It won't be like the last war. Trust me.

Your son,

Heinrich.

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
March 12, 1935

Jeanne,

Yes, I'm alive. Sorry about not writing, but things have been busy. I had to walk back from Ghirlandaio, and then get processed for mobilization.

I'm glad to hear that you joined the Auxiliary. That was a good move—you'll be a lot more useful there than on the front line. Also, it'll keep Mom and Dad from worrying. Especially Mom. You know how she gets.

And don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I'm not going to do anything stupid.

Also, I know this warning is superfluous, but be careful. Wartime tends to create people who are in a hurry, and don't think about the consequences of their actions. I know you won't start acting like that, but be on the lookout for those that will.

Love,

Heinrich

* * *

Captain,

The report you requested

Battle of Vasel Review

Positives: Lieutenant Nowicky provided good intelligence on Imperial movements, which allowed the squad to set up an ambush. Sergeant Traherne handled his end extremely well. The squad overran the Imperials with only three casualties. The squad handled the river crossing well, and was ready to fend off an Imperial counterattack almost as soon as they arrived. Lieutenant Falder moved her squad across the river with alacrity.

Negatives: Going into Vasel one squad at a time allowed the Imperials time to adjust their planning and set up defenses. Some soldiers apparently were too eager to come to grips with the enemy, forgot their training, and were shot for their pains. Also, the ambush plan was possibly too complex, and could have failed at multiple points, had the Imperial commander been more aware of his surroundings. Further, the supply situation could have been catastrophic, had the Imperial commander been able to summon reinforcements.

Overall Summary: The Imperials in Vasel seem to have been constantly taken by surprise, which covered for any mistakes we ourselves made. Under such conditions, what tactical flexibility they have tends to fall apart. They also do not seem to handle reverses well. Hopefully, this pattern will continue.

As to us, I intend to spend more time training my squad, and, if asked, would recommend everyone else do the same. We're good, but we're nowhere near where we ought to be, and had we attacked the Imperials frontally we might not have had a regiment left by the end. Also, I am putting in a formal request for a man-portable radio.

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
April 16, 1935

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
April 16, 1935

Dad,

Thanks for your letter. I already knew about sock rotation—for one thing, you told me about it—but thanks for the reminder to check on the troops as well. And yes, I do have Darcsens in my squad, and no, there hasn't been any trouble worth writing about, although I'm a little suspicious of a few of the training injuries. They seem to be shared, though, so I'm not too worried. Otherwise, everything's been running fairly smoothly with the squad, and everyone's working together well.

On a related note, I'm sure you've heard about the retaking of Vasel. It's the first time we've successfully attacked the Imps, and I'm sure the papers are playing it up for all it's worth. Thing is, they're actually not exaggerating what Lieutenant Gunther did. I guess he really is General Gunther's kid. Seems to have caught the Imps by surprise, too—apparently they got used to us retreating. I wish we were a lot further north, though. Hopefully we will be soon.

I'm glad you're okay and that the refugees coming south haven't been too much of a problem. Please keep writing.

Your son,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
April 16, 1935

Julia,

It was good to see you again and find out what had happened to the office crew. As I think about it, I think Mr. Vredefort must have missed the train out of town—when he called me into his office right before Imps rolled in, he gave me some letters to deliver, then took them back when we heard the artillery. He probably just walked himself out once he delivered them.

As to myself, not much has changed since we talked all of two days ago, but I wanted to get this letter off to you so you'd have my address.

Sincerely,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
April 16, 1935

Jeanne,

Of course it seems like your superiors are incompetent. We've been at war for three weeks, and it's a much different kind of war than was anticipated. Give it time. I know you didn't necessarily want to hear that, but it's all I can say.

I'm glad to hear that you're doing well apart from that. Also, the best way to make sure it's a safe bar is to look at how the women are dressed. If Mom would start freaking out, don't go in.

And seriously, everything's fine. Don't worry about me. Imps can't shoot to save their lives.

Love,

Heinrich

* * *

Captain,

The report you requested

Battle of Kloden Review

Positives: The maps given to us were remarkably accurate. Lieutenant Landzaat was easy to coordinate with, and handled the attack on his squad superbly. The squad showed great initiative, and both Sergeants Yancey and Traherne dealt with sudden changes in plan extremely well. Also, all of the plans were simple. Furthermore, even with the losses suffered by Landzaat and Nowicky, all involved remained determined to take the objective.

Negatives: Moving by squads in the Wildwood might be necessary, but it does not do good things for coordination. Lieutenant Landzaat was ambushed, although he was able to recover. Lieutenant Nowicky got mousetrapped via an ambush, and his squad was shredded, partially due to the lack of support he received. Said lack of support was due to the decision I made to move the entirety of my squad to support Landzaat. I do not know what the consequences would have been had I chosen to either split my squad, or moved to support Lieutenant Nowicky. Perhaps I would now be writing about how Landzaat's squad was shredded.

Overall Summary: The fighting in Kloden demonstrates two things. First, that on average, our forces are better than Imperial ones in small-unit combat. However, that is _on average_ , as demonstrated by what happened to Nowicky and his squad. Supposedly the Imperial forces were commanded by General Jaeger, reportedly the best of Maximilian's generals. I rather hope he is, as that might cause such events to be rarer when facing forces not commanded by him.

As mentioned previously, I will be training my squad more, and sending another formal request for a man-portable radio. Actually having a tank would also be nice.

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
May 10, 1935

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
May 10, 1935

Dad,

No, I don't know what Jeanne's up to in her off hours. Do you think she tells me everything? Besides, she's got a good head on her shoulders. I don't think you need to worry about her. Frankly, on that score, I'm surprised you're not more worried about me, considering that I'm the one going out and getting shot at. My fate is much more reliant on other people's actions than hers is.

I'm glad that you and Mom are doing well—I admit, I was surprised when I read that you two had taken in some refugees, but when you talked about the conditions at the camps I wasn't anymore. Things are bad enough here, and this is a semipermanent base.

More personally, we saw some action, and the squad did well. Imps didn't know what them. Some casualties, but no one in my squad died. Gunther apparently brought down Jaeger's tank himself, by most accounts.

This isn't easy. How did you do it for three years in the last war, Dad?

Looking forward to your next letter.

Your son,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
May 10, 1935

Jeanne,

I don't know what set Dad off, but apparently he thinks you're engaged in riotous living. I told him not to worry, but you know how he gets. Try to be a little reassuring on that point in your next letter to him.

And yes, everything's fine here. Some action, but nothing too exciting. There's not much else I can tell you about that. I can, however, tell you about some of the nonsense that happens back here at the camp. So, this one kid comes walking into my office, informs me that his team leader sent him to me because I knew where to find the ID-10-T repellant, and asks where he can find a massive bottle of Marmyan Cream. Naturally, I asked what he was planning on doing with it, and once he assured me that it would not be prejudicial to good order and discipline I told him. Well, he kept his word. You know how that stuff smells—well, he also bought a can of insect repellent and swapped the labels. You can guess what happened next. Haven't laughed that had in a while.

Keep the letters coming—those office stories take me back to working for Mr. Vredefort. I could use the reminder of happier times.

Love,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
May 10, 1935

Julia,

It was good to hear from you again. Sergeant Traherne—you remember him, the older man—gave me an odd look when he passed me the mail today, and I don't know why. I guess he saw your return address and wondered—you are the first person besides family to write, after all.

I'm glad to hear that everything's going well, and that the older people are helping the rest of you out. I'm not surprised, though—they don't want to do any more work than they have to, and the sooner you learn, the more work you can do. Also, most of them really do like seeing people succeed.

We saw some light action, but it wasn't too bad. No one in the squad died, or was even seriously hurt, and the Imps can't shoot worth beans.

I look forward to your next letter.

Regards,

Heinrich


	8. Desert Engagement

_The Barious Desert is a geographical and geological anomaly like no other in Europa. Despite a thick, hilly forest to the south, mountains to the east, and rolling grasslands to the west and north, the area remains completely denuded of all forms of vegetation. The reason for this remains a geological and climatological mystery._

Excerpted with permission from _Geography of Gallia,_ textbook, 1931

"Come in," Lannes said with some relief when he heard a knock on the door. Paperwork had become something of a chore over the past two months. He'd much rather be actually training, and that worried him a little. Maybe that would change once he could actually see paperwork as being relevant to his life again. He hoped so. He didn't have any skills besides accounting.

The door opened, and he realized that he'd never seen the man standing in front of him before, and that the man was wearing a tanker's uniform.

"Sergeant Abraham Crichton, reporting for duty, sir," the man said, snapping off a crisp salute.

Lannes returned it somewhat less crisply, then leaned back in his chair. "You've been assigned to my squad, then?"

"Yes sir," Crichton replied. " _Thistle_ and I just arrived here half an hour ago."

Lannes grinned. "Good. I've been missing not having some armored support. It'll take some retraining, but it's worth it." He paused, then continued speculatively. "I've heard rumors that we've come up with a tank design that you can switch the turrets on."

Crichton grimaced. "They tried that, sir, but setting up a tank where you can swap the turret out without acetylene, welding torches, and a full-blown factory isn't easy or cheap. We've got a couple of variants that they told us about in training but no one's seen yet, an anti-infantry tank armed with a gatling gun and a bunker-buster armed with a flamethrower, but that's as fancy as we're going to get."

Lannes grunted. "Too much to hope for, I guess. And now that I think about it," he shrugged, "I don't know as we'd have ever changed out the turrets. Normal tank does those jobs well enough, and Gatlings don't pierce armor." He looked at his watch. "It's nearly lunchtime. Get something to eat, then meet me back here. We begin training this afternoon."

"Yes sir."

* * *

Heinrich Lannes was, to say the least, frustrated. It had only been about two hours, and certain things were fairly obvious.

First, they'd gotten in some new people—another sniper, some new lancers and engineers, and several new scouts and shocktroopers—and they were settling in well. Yes, his squad was nearly half again as large, and he needed to consider whether or not to create a new team and put Rogers in command of it. That was something he needed to discuss with Traherne, and then Yancey, but he was inclined to do so, because trying to control fifteen soldiers was a lot harder than controlling ten. They'd just need to make sure the new squad didn't have both Darcsens and Darcsen haters in it.

That however, probably wouldn't be a massive problem. But there was a potentially significant issue. The new guys were all very old or very young. Traherne had been the oldest in the original squad, and he was forty-two, while Derfflinger was the youngest, at not-quite-seventeen. This new bunch, though? Only three of them were between eighteen and thirty, two were in their mid-40s, and four of them weren't seventeen yet. This did not bode well, but finding recruits was a problem for other people to deal with, although he definitely intended to be even more careful with his troops than he had been.

Fortunately, the second thing was that Crichton was a good tanker, and third, both Yancey and Traherne had good rapport with him, which would definitely benefit the squad, and fourth, these two things together meant that in normal maneuvering, the components of the squad all worked together remarkably well.

Unfortunately, the fifth thing was that, when the situation became abnormal, there was no way for him to tell Crichton, Yancey, or Traherne what needed to be done. Traherne didn't need his hand held, but Yancy was still new, and Crichton was just out of training. They needed coordination if they were going to get to where they needed to be, and Lannes didn't have a way to do it.

Sure, the wireless set in the tank could reach the whole squad, or individual soldiers, as needed—yet another one of the miracles of ragnite—but the infantry, including him, couldn't send information back. And Crichton didn't know enough about infantry tactics to be useful on that front, and besides, _Lannes_ was in command of this squad, not him.

They'd tried having Lannes hop up on top of the tank and issue orders to the squad through Crichton. However, that caused a certain amount of issues due to the extra step in the orders-giving and the fact that the voice giving the orders was unfamiliar to those hearing it. Also, it was kind of hard for Crichton, in the turret and close to the engine, to hear Lannes from on top of the tank, and as Traherne had pointed out, Lannes made a very good target up there, particularly when he was yelling into the hatch.

They'd also tried having Lannes wear the headset instead of Crichton while he was on top of the tank. Unfortunately, due to the wire not being that long, it tended to go flying off whenever he moved around. This also made him a target, and, he thought, caused him to look like an idiot.

It was extremely frustrating, and it wouldn't do to launch into a screaming fit in front of the troops. So that meant there was only one thing left to do. And it had been two hours, so there was even cover for it.

"Take a break!" he yelled, and as the infantry dispersed, Traherne, Yancey, and Rogers walked over to the tank, while Crichton popped out of it and dismounted.

"All right," Lannes said when they all gathered around. "This isn't working. Anyone have any ideas?"

Traherne rubbed his chin. "Find a longer wire, sir?"

Crichton shook his head. "That won't work. They don't make headset wires that are long enough."

"Well, sir," Rogers said somewhat awkwardly, "you could always go to Czherny and Schmidt."

Lannes blinked. _Of course!_ This was, at its core, a technical problem, and those two had a knack for those. "Good plan, Corporal," he said. "Let's go talk to them."

"Hey bro!" Private Leon Schmidt said with a wave from on top of the _Edelweiss_ as Crichton and Lannes walked in. "Be with ya in a second, this baby's getting some sweet upgrades."

Lannes twitched slightly. He'd always found Schmidt to be far too informal, but there was no denying his competence, and so he suppressed his annoyance. He glanced over at Crichton, who looked somewhat shocked but not especially so. Maybe this sort of thing was common among mechanics?

Schmidt gave a last twist of his wrench, then jumped off the tank's main deck and walked proudly over to them, putting the wrench in his tool belt and dusting off his hands. "Don't think we've met," he said, extending a hand to Crichton, who took it automatically, "I'm Leon Schmidt, mechanic for the regiment. And…Kreis, bro, come meet Squad 2's new tank man!"

Kreis Czherny poked his head out from around Berthelmy's tank, the _Fleur-de-lis_ , and walked over. "Good to see you, Lieutenant," he said to Lannes with a nod. "And I'm very pleased to meet you, Sergeant…"

"Crichton," he said. "Pleased to meet you as well," he added as they shook hands.

"So, bro," Schmidt said cheerfully. "What can I do for ya?"

"We're having some command and control problems," Lannes said.

"Ah, I gotcha, bro. You want to patch into Crichton's wireless, right?"

"Yes. How did you know I…?"

"'Cuz you're one of the few officers who never qualified to drive a tank. Me and Kreis whipped up something for this a few days ago. Kreis, where'd you put that thing?"

"Right here, Leon," Czherny said patiently as he opened one of the boxes on the wall. Lannes was not entirely sure how the two managed to work together so well, but he was not one to argue with success.

"How does it work?" Crichton asked curiously.

"'S like this, bro," Schmidt replied as Czherny came over with what looked like a pair of miniature radios. "You hook this little baby up to the tank's wireless, see?"

Crichton and Lannes nodded.

"And this little bit," he continued, "goes on the lapel of your uniform. Uses the ragnite impregnated in the uniform for power."

Lannes blinked. "We can make something that can do all this?"

"Yeah, but it's not easy. Also, transmission quality really drops off after about thirty meters or so. But if you're in that range, you'll be able to transmit orders to your squad like you were in the tank yourself."

Lannes whistled silently. "Not bad."

"Take it, bro," Schmidt said, pressing the devices into his hands. "We've tried it out here, but we've never had a chance to do a field test. Guess you get to do the honors."

Crichton spoke. "How do I hook this up to the tank's wireless?"

"It's simple as anything, bro. Take me out to your tank and I'll show you."

* * *

As Heinrich Lannes looked at his map while sitting on _Thistle's_ main deck, he thought two things. First, that the Barious Desert was only bearable to be in because the temperatures rarely crawled into the twenties. Second, that the 3rd, 19th, and 22nd Regiments were being sent on the biggest wild goose chase imaginable.

Yancey put his thoughts into words. "Why would the high command send us here? What'd we do to make 'em angry?"

"Captain says there're intelligence reports of Imp troops in this area," Lannes replied absently as he looked at the map. "Our job is to check it out, and, if they're here, kick 'em out."

"Why would Imps even be here, though?"

Lannes had to agree with her. There was nothing in the Barious desert. Well, that wasn't quite true—there were a few mines here, and some mineral springs where people had established resorts before the war—but nothing warranting any kind of Imperial force, particularly not one of the size that had supposedly invaded the place.

"Well," Rogers said slowly, "it might be because of the temple."

Lannes looked up. That hadn't been mentioned in the intelligence briefing.

"The temple?" Traherne asked skeptically. "What would the Imps want with a temple?"

"I'm from the area," Rogers explained, "and there's this old temple out here, built by the Valkyrur themselves, or so they say. Maybe they think they'll find something there."

"Yeah, but what?"

"Well, the story goes that the Valkyrur buried whatever caused the Darcsen Calamity in that temple. Maybe the Imps want whatever it was."

Traherne grunted. "Don't think they'd get much use out of it after 2,000 years."

Lannes held up a hand. "Hold that thought. Anyone seen Kat, Friedrich, Derfflinger, or Delmon?" he asked, starting to look around and cursing himself for not remembering that the Barious wasn't a natural occurrence. It was the sort of thing that could lead incipient tensions to come to a boil…

Traherne grinned. "Relax, sir. Me 'n Yancey talked to some of the troops. They're keeping an eye out for each other, don't you worry."

Lannes sighed with relief.

"Well, so long as…"

"Imp troops, sir!" he heard Derfflinger yell from up ahead.

"Where, and how many?" Lannes asked as the noncoms dispersed, Crichton slipped into _Thistle_ , and the troops roused themselves from where they were taking a break.

"Half a mile to the front. Looks like a recon squad and an assault squad, with…four light tanks. They're heading southeast."

Lannes looked down at the map. They were heading directly towards where Gunther's squad was moving north. Landzaat's combined Squads 1 and 3 were over to Gunther's right, and Berthelmy's Squad 5 was to his left, while Kanawa's Squad 4 was a bit behind them. This was their job.

"Right. Crichton?"

"Sir?"

"Get _Thistle_ rolling, you're taking the center. Traherne, deploy your team left. Yancey, to the right. Arrow formation, like we practiced. _Move_ ," he finished, jumping up on top of the tank so as to make sure he knew what was going on.

Wait, there was one more thing to do. Lannes activated the radio again. "Captain, two enemy squads in sight, heading your way. I think they're planning on cutting off Landzaat and Gunther. Engaging now."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Go get them."

"Yes ma'am," he replied, and switched back to the squad frequency.

 _Thistle_ rolled forward, and the infantry fanned out in front and to the sides, scouts taking the lead, shocktroopers, lancers, engineers, and snipers just behind them. Lannes rocked with the motion of the tank, and racked the slide on his MAG as they rolled forward. The desert was not a good place for concealment, so he was anticipating that the Imps would notice what was coming.

What he was not anticipating was that they would be so focused on their goal that they wouldn't notice his squad was on them until Cranmer, Marx, and Murphy stopped to fire and three of their noncoms dropped.

That got their attention, and he looked carefully to see what they were doing. Were they… _yes!_ The recon squad was peeling off, and their assault squad was keeping on course. As the forces moved towards each other, he noticed the Imps were shifting into a formation he hadn't seen before. A tank on each flank, with a team in front and a team behind. Odd, but it made a certain amount of sense.

"Listen up," he ordered. "Their recon squad is heading our way, while the assault squad is pushing on to hit Squad 7. Let's get this done quick, but don't do anything stupid, we've still got to take out that other squad. Lancers to the flanks, Crichton down the middle, engineers repair, heal, and resupply, scouts and shocktroopers shoot whatever moves."

As they moved into firing range, he felt his palms begin to sweat. This was the first time he'd ever faced Imps in a straight fight, no ambushes, no flanking, just a straight-up slugfest because there wasn't time for anything else.

He saw a lancer and two shocktroopers drop in the Imp ranks, and then the scouts began to fire at each other. The superior accuracy of Gallian rifles was telling, and…

 _Thistle_ accelerated, and Lannes felt a tank round go by five feet behind his head and remove his officer's cap with the shock of its passage. _Good riddance,_ he thought, and then he had to grab onto the hatch cover for dear life as another round slammed into the right tread of the tank and brought it to a screeching halt.

But the Imps were about to have their own problems, as his lancers returned fire.

The right Imp tank blew apart as Rogers and three other lancers put four rounds into it, while the left tank threw itself into reverse as three lances hit it and the third missed by a hair. Not that his response meant a whole lot, as Crichton swiveled the turret to the left and finished the job.

The Imps were now on the deficit side of the numbers equation in terms of troops and tanks, now, knew it, and were beginning to run back towards their compatriots. Lannes was not about to let them slip through his fingers.

" _Push,_ " he snarled into the communicator. "Don't let 'em get back to the others."

 _Thistle_ didn't move, and Lannes belatedly remembered that the tank round had hit the tread, then he felt a couple of sudden jolts and looked over to the side to see Ivor and van Reenan fixing the tread up. They looked at each other, nodded, and stepped back, Ivor grinning and giving a thumbs-up.  
"Roll it, Sergeant," Lannes ordered, and nodded back to them. "Good work, you two," he said, and the tank lurched into motion.

It wasn't necessary, though. The moment that the Imps had started running it was over. They couldn't see to dodge, they weren't firing back, and his troops had the bit in their teeth. Not one of the fleeing Imps made it more than a hundred meters, and his men started moving forward quickly, eager to get at the next group.

Given how out of formation they were, that was a very bad idea.

"Hold on!" he called, and the squad came to a halt almost instantly, although it was slightly more ragged than he was comfortable with. Fortunately, it looked like most of the late halters were the new recruits from the second draft. That could be repaired.

"We're only half done. Get back in formation, align on the scouts, and do it quick. We don't have time to mess around here."

He loved this gadget.

 _Thistle_ continued rolling forward as the scouts came to a halt and the others caught up to them, and Lannes did his best to peer through the smoke and dust to see if the Imp assault squad was launching a counterattack. It would be an excellent time for it…oh, nuts.

Dust storm.

Lannes thought furiously. The storm was coming from the east, which meant the Imps could advance under its cover, and the last thing he needed was his scouts going down in a hail of submachinegun fire.

"Shocktroopers, move forward when that dust storm hits us. Pair up with the scouts. If the Imps are smart they'll push forward while we can't see them." Lannes then spoke to Crichton. "Keep moving forward, we might need tank support."

"Yes, sir!"

The storm hit, and Lannes couldn't see more than twenty feet in front of him. The fact that he was on top of a tank and having to squint probably wasn't helping any, but it was still a massive pain in the neck, and he wondered for a moment if he'd been overcautious.

Then the MAGs began to rattle, rifles fired, and he heard explosions to his left and right, and he realized he might've been undercautious...and two lancers came out of the storm.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

One lancer flew off his feet, but the other just lifted his lance into position and fired, striking the tank square on the front plate.

The armor held, the lancer began to reload, and Lannes slammed a new magazine home just as two rifles fired, one from the left and one from the right, and the man dropped like a stone.

Lannes looked to the side and saw Ivor and van Reenan, each lowering their rifles, while Kat, Valkyrur bless her, was running around to the front of the tank to patch it up.

The irony of what he'd just thought hit him, and he smiled sardonically, then thought suddenly that he had no idea what the Darcsen religion had been before the Calamity. For that matter, did anyone?

But the sandstorm was passing, and he needed to focus. He had no idea what was in front of him, and as the sand cleared he closed his eyes, shook his head to clear the sand off, and opened them to reveal a desert full of bodies.

He looked to his left and right, and saw that four of them were his—

But almost all the rest were Imps, both of their tanks were down, and there were two soldiers making for the ridgeline to the northeast as fast as they could. He opened his mouth to give an order, but the snipers fired before he could, and both men crumpled.

He pieced the situation together quickly. The Imp commander had ordered his squad forward in the same formation he had, except for putting the tanks on the flanks again, in an effort to do as much damage as he could when the storm hit. Unfortunately, his men had been worse at operating on their own than Lannes' and had been on the attack instead of the defense, and the storm had destroyed their coordination.

It wasn't a perfect victory, but it would do, and Lannes felt the high flow through him, mixed with regret that he'd taken casualties, and that he still felt that rush of pleasure whenever the plan succeeded. But there were wounded, and there was no time for that, so Lannes got on the radio as the troops set to stabilizing their fellows and the engineers resupplied the lancers.

"Fina, requesting medical assistance, over," he said to the medic that had been assigned to this axis of the advance.

"How many casualties, Lieutenant?" she replied, voice crackling over the radio.

"Four of us, ma'am. Location is," he fumbled out his map, "Half a mile west-northwest of the first gap to your north in the ridgeline to your east."

"Imperial casualties?"

"Somewhere between forty and fifty, ma'am," he said, and paused to look around briefly. Seeing that the lancers and engineers of his squad were taking care of their fallen foes while the shocktroopers and scouts kept watch, he continued. "We're taking care of them, but I'm not sure if more than half of them will make it."

"We'll see about that," she replied, fierceness evident even over the radio, and Lannes winced a little as he heard the ambulance she was driving accelerate far faster than was safe.

He then called Captain Varrot. "Captain, we've taken out the Imps. Do you want us to maintain the original plan?"

"Good work, Lieutenant. And no. I want you to push along the ridgeline to the gap three miles north of your current position."

Lannes looked at his map. "This one that looks like a gulch where the ridgeline's at its widest?"

"Precisely. I want to you to dig in there. It looks like the Empire's here for the temple, and I want to know why."

"Understood, ma'am," Lannes replied. "Permission to wait until Fina retrieves my wounded, ma'am."

"Permission granted. Don't wait too long."

"I won't, ma'am. Lannes out."

As he jumped off the tank and moved to help the others with the wounded while they waited for Fina to arrive, Lannes wondered why the Imps were interested in an old Valkyrur temple. Maybe their commander was just that interested in ancient history? No, there had to be more to it than that.

But what?


	9. Hold the Line

_The_ Batomys _was designed to Prince Maximilian's specifications for the purpose of besieging Citadel Ghirlandiao. It performed this purpose most admirably, destroying tanks with one shot and sweeping any infantry who attempted to attack it aside with its side-mounted Gatling turrets. It is widely believed that, even without Selvaria Bles, with the_ Batomys _the Empire would have taken the Citadel in less than a day's extra time. However, once the Citadel had fallen, Maximilian found himself with a very large, very expensive tool that was really only useful for one purpose, which had been fulfilled._

 _So he decided to use it as his personal field headquarters…_

Excerpted with permission from _Imperial Command and Control During EWII,_ Miles Hartigan; Falkenberg University Press, 1967

Heinrich Lannes tapped his pen on the clipboard that he was _not_ using for its official purpose and stared at the nearly-blank piece of paper that lay on it. He and Julia had been exchanging letters ever since they'd seen each other in Vasel, and her latest had arrived the day they'd been ordered out for the Barious Desert. While not particularly frustrating—he usually didn't reply for a day or three, what with being run ragged by training, coordinating, and generally taking care of more than thirty human beings and a tank, and paradoxically there was actually more free time in the field than in garrison, Varrot subscribing to the idea that soldiers needed to be kept busy while in garrison in order to avoid mischief.

 _However,_ he thought he looked at his squad's position from his perch atop _Thistle, that doesn't help if you're not sure what to write._

He knew very well not to write about where they were or what exactly they were doing, but there was a lot you could write without talking about that. He didn't want to talk about the fighting when writing to Julia—he didn't want her to worry, much like he didn't want his parents to worry.

Unfortunately and fortunately, she wasn't stupid. Fortunately, because her letters were a joy to read. Unfortunately, because the letter he'd written after the Wildwood had mentioned "some light action," and apparently someone—he suspected that reporter, Ellet—had dished out much more detailed information than she needed to in that newsletter of hers, Julia's reply to that one had inquired, gently, as to whether engaging three enemy squads in half as many hours, even with help, qualified as "light action."

He might have been annoyed if it weren't for the fact that her worry had bled through the letter like red ink on a bad balance sheet. He hadn't been quite sure how to deal with that combination of worry and annoyance born of worry, and was reasonably certain that he'd fumbled his way through his response. Fortunately, it hadn't been bad enough to make her stop writing, which partially attributed to the fact that his next letter had been written during training, as the turnaround time had been remarkably quick.

Now he didn't have anything to do because his squad was dug in and the scouts out on the perimeter, with virtually no sign of Imps, and he had a letter to write.

And he had no idea what he was going to say. Julia had said that she didn't want know the gory details, but she didn't want him to act like everything was okay when she knew it wasn't. But how could he explain the delight he felt when a plan came together and those he had responsibility for lived and those he needed to kill died?

And how could he explain that in so many ways he was never more alive than when he was in danger of dying?

He was almost glad for the interruption when he heard the radio crackle.

He was not glad when he heard Varrot say "We have a problem, Lieutenant."

"Ma'am?"

"Prince Maximilian is here," she said as the ground began to tremble. "He brought the _Batomys_ with him."

Lannes cursed as he flashed back to the Citadel. _How were they going to stand up to_ that?

"It gets worse," Varrot continued. "He brought more troops with him than we thought. Squads 1 and 3 are already heavily engaged, and Squad 7 is about to tangle with the monster tank. I wouldn't be surprised if…"

"Lieutenant!" he heard Traherne yell. "Imps coming in! Reinforced assault company with full tank support!"

"Looks like they just showed up, Captain," Lannes said. "How long do you want us to hold?"

"As long as it takes to stop the _Batomys_ ," Varrot ordered. "If you withdraw Gunther's going to get hit from two sides, Squad 7 will shatter, and the regiment will be cut in two. At which point, we all die."

"Understood, ma'am," Lannes replied as Crichton scrambled up the side of the tank and into the hatch. "We'll hold the Imps long enough for you to settle things over there, one way or another."  
"See to it, Lieutenant. I'm counting on you," she added as she switched frequencies.  
There wasn't a lot of time, but he needed certain information before he made any decisions.

"How are they deployed, Sergeant?" he asked as _Thistle_ revved up.  
"Looks like they put all their scouts up front, followed by snipers. Then some tanks. We're not sure how they're deployed behind that."

"Right." Lannes looked around the squad's position. They had sandbags aplenty, but they needed to be able to trade space for time. "There're some rock formations up front, right?"

"Yes sir."

"Take the scouts and snipers up there. Kill as many of their lead elements as you can. Fire and maneuver back once they get in range. You'll be falling back onto a lance wall, so be careful."

"Yes sir," Traherne replied, and hurried off.

"Corporal Rogers!"

"Sir?"

"The lancers are all under your command. I want you to blow those tanks straight to Hel, then fall back, is that understood?"

"Yes sir!"

"Sergeant Yancey. You've got the shocktroopers. Dig in at the second sandbag line. Make sure you leave room for the scouts."

"Understood, sir."

Lannes looked around. They'd dug in halfway down the gulch just in case this sort of thing was necessary. But if he let the Imps pin him down at the second line, they'd lose. There'd still be far too much firepower for them to handle. They'd set up a third line, just in case, but there wasn't much there. No one had expected this.

"Private Ivor?"

"Sir?"

"Get the engineers together. I want that third line of sandbags reinforced, then move up to the second and help provide covering fire for the scouts. Once they get there, fall back to the third. Understood?"

"Yes sir. Can do."

"Sergeant Crichton."

"Sir?"

"I want us up front with the lancers. With any luck the Imp tanks will focus on us and not them. I've noticed they tend to think of tank fighting as jousting, so let's take advantage of it."

"Understood, sir," Crichton said unhappily, a sentiment Lannes sympathized with. _Thistle_ was Crichton's baby, and he loved it like it was his own child. Given how accurate Imp tanks tended to be at range, however, Lannes wasn't especially worried.

Three sniper rifles cracked nearly simultaneously as the tank lurched forward, and Lannes smiled as he raised the binoculars Traherne had passed him after the last battle to his eyes. Things were going as planned, and the new tactics they'd been training in since the Wildwood were working like a charm as the Imp vanguard went down like wheat before the scythe.

The snipers were killing anything in a red uniform or holding a sniper rifle. Meanwhile, the scouts were working in pairs to bring down as many Imp scouts as possible with body shots before they got in range to fire. Then, when the Imps got in range to fire and stopped, the Gallians went to individual targeting with headshots. They'd done it this way during the meeting engagement on the way here, but Lannes had been a little busy to notice how it was working. Now that he could observe it from a distance, he was pleased to see that almost none of the Imps were even managing to land hits on the scouts, and were spreading their fire enough that no one was in danger.

But the tanks were getting closer, and Lannes took a closer look at them as _Thistle_ came to a halt in the center of the lance wall. One medium tank and four lights, the same as had gone through the Ghirlandaio Watch like an axe through butter, and he willfully stomped on his mind's attempt to flashback to that day. He had more than half again as many lancers as they'd had lance rounds that day, and he was about to show these arrogant swine what happened when you ran into an unshaken lance wall.

Then he remembered that the scouts and snipers were in front of that, and his blood ran cold. If Traherne didn't get them out fast, they'd be caught out in the open, and a third of his squad would probably die in fifteen seconds, at which point it would be all over but the shouting, and he quickly looked to see if they were withdrawing.

They were, and Lannes heaved a sigh of relief as he saw them firing and maneuvering back, finishing off the last two or three men of the Imp vanguard as they retreated. Now it remained to be seen if… _yes!_

The Imp tank commander was no fool. His scouts had been cleared out, and the cautious thing to do would be to wait for the follow-on troops to get out in front before advancing. However, he probably didn't think he had time to do that, so he was doing the next-best thing by sending two light tanks ahead to check for mines and troops while holding the medium and other two lights back.

Unfortunately, that was exactly the wrong thing to do when facing the sort of defense Lannes had set up, especially given that he had no mines. He should probably do something about that before the next battle, though, because usually the fighting would not be under these conditions.

The two Imp tanks slammed to a halt, and Lannes almost thought he could feel the breeze as eight lances fired nearly simultaneously and both tanks blew apart at the welds. That was one of the advantages of defending, you could sit still and make sure you had the shot laid in right.

Then the remaining Imp tanks stopped, and began to fire from range, directly at _Thistle_. And him.

The medium tank missed. The two lights didn't, _Thistle_ nearly came apart, and Crichton didn't wait for his order to fire and then slam the tank into reverse as fast as he could.

Lannes couldn't tell if the anti-armor round hit, but he poked his head up quickly enough to see the lancers let fly, all firing at the medium. Only six hit, but that was enough to send flame gouting out of every hole in the tank.

The lights fired again, but they were moving in reverse too, and both rounds missed, although one only by half a meter. Not that it mattered especially. _Thistle_ was out of it unless he had a death wish or one of the engineers came up to fix it.

There was an order he needed to give. "Corporal Rogers, if you see shocktroopers, fall back to the second sandbag line. They come together, we'll meet them together. I probably don't need to tell you this, but don't play hero, understood?"

He saw a lance stick up in the air and wave, and knew Rogers had gotten the message. Just in time, too, because shocktroopers and lancers were starting to come forward, an assault squad's worth, in front of the lights.

Things were going to get _very_ interesting on the second line. He'd been sort of hoping that they'd fall back after having their scouts wiped out and probably losing their tank commander, but it was apparent that these Imps were made of sterner stuff, or were more scared of what would happen if they ran, and they came on anyway.

Rogers and the rest of the lancers fell back quickly as the snipers began to offer cover fire, followed by the scouts, as _Thistle_ took its place in the middle of the second line and Kat ran up to patch the tank up before the Imps take it out. Lancers and shocktroopers were falling, but not nearly fast enough, and as they saw the main body they shifted their teams into line-abreast formation, presenting a squad frontage, backed by the two remaining lights as the lancers jumped over the sandbags and turned their faces to the enemy and prepared to fire again.

 _Thistle_ was whole again, Kat had jumped back behind a sandbag right next to Friedrich and Guildenstern, and Lannes poked his head around as he saw the lights drive on without even stopping to fire at the Gallian tank as the second and third Imp assault squads came into view, and then realized what they were going to do. Instead of trying to blow away _Thistle,_ they were going to mortar down the sandbags and expose his men to the shocktroopers' fire. He opened his mouth to tell Rogers and Crichton to fire, _now_ , when every lancer fired again, this time in a rather more ragged volley, blowing up one light and immobilizing the other, which _Thistle_ proceeded to finish off. Meantime, the snipers, scouts and engineers, led by Traherne, were falling back to the third sandbag line as the shocktroopers started to come into MAG range and the Gallians dropped nearly all the survivors with a rattling volley that Lannes participated in, dropping a red-uniformed shocktrooper who'd come up on the tank while Crichton was reloading.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

But now the next two squads were coming up, and it was time for the finale before the Imp lancers decided to commence firing.

"Sergeant Yancey, Corporal Rogers, fall back to the third line. Sergeant Crichton, we're tail-end Charlie. All units, we don't withdraw from the third line. We finish them there. Understood?"

He wasn't quite sure if they had, but the squad's mood seemed to stiffen a little, even as Crichtonshifted into reverse as the shocktroopers and lancers abandoned their sandbags and began to retreat, the snipers again offering cover fire, this time bringing down any lancers who stopped to take aim at _Thistle._ Losing a tread at this point would be more than an inconvenience.

Fortunately, the Imps seemed more focused on trying to get to the third line than they were in killing him. Unfortunately, that also meant that they were crossing the killing ground much more quickly than he'd hoped they would.

However, Imps were still going down as scouts and engineers did their best to bring down the running shocktroopers with headshots, and the menacing presence of _Thistle_ 's coax machine gun kept the ones in the center moving slower than they would have otherwise. Lannes looked to his left and to his right and grinned as he saw what the Imps were doing. Their line was shifting into a shallow C that was getting deeper and deeper as the center kept back from the tank—he had no illusions that they were keeping back from _him_ —and the flanks ran ahead as fast as they could, trying to get into his squad's last ditch.

It was also evident that his troops has figured this out, and even as he came to this conclusion he saw his squad split their fire, the center concentrating still on the Imps holding back in the middle, while the flanks worked on bringing down the ones closest to them as the Gallian shocktroopers vaulted over the sandbags and turned to face the onrush.

As Crichton halted the tank just in front of the center and prepared the mortar to fire, Lannes took a very brief moment to admire the courage of the Imp assault squads heading towards him. Their scouts and snipers were all dead, their tanks were destroyed, and one of their squads had been completely wiped out—and still they came on.

That, however, meant that his troops had a higher chance of getting killed, and he hoped the Imps' courage broke soon, before they got into ZMMP and grenade range. That would be…bad.

Lannes felt _Thistle_ rock backwards and downwards slightly as the mortar fired and what looked like the survivors of the Imp command group were blotted away by ragnite-infused high explosive, but he only noted that with part of his mind as the MAGs began to rattle again as the survivors of the assault squads came into range, and he took aim at a particularly aggressive shocktrooper who'd gotten ahead of his peers, probably in the belief that the tank would pull all the way back behind the infantry instead of halting half-in, half-out.

He had been unfortunately mistaken, and he was raising his gun to fire when Lannes pulled the trigger.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

The shocktrooper dropped, and Lannes frantically reloaded while looking for threats as Crichton switched to the coax and tried to bring down anyone in feldgrau who got in range. But there were at least half-a-dozen Imps coming in, all of whom looked determined to kill whoever this madman was on the tank, and he wasn't about to tell his squad to shift their fire to save his own hide.

No, it was move or die, and Lannes moved, jumping off the right side of the tank and landing with a thump as the battle swept into the center of the Gallian line, and he threw a grenade over _Thistle_ 's bow with his left hand while pointing his MAG at a staggering Imp who was just bringing his ZMMP to bear. Lannes then proceeded to break the first rule he'd been taught in shocktrooper training, and fired one-handed.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

More than half the rounds missed, but one of the five that hit was a headshot, and that was enough to drop the man like a stone as the grenade went off in an explosion of blue light.

KA-BOOM!

Three Imps went flying from that, but the two surviving shocktroopers were taking aim, and Lannes got the distinct feeling that his luck might have just run out as he stared down the barrels of two ZMMPs and felt his hands, slow as an audit, begin the reloading process of their own accord, despite knowing it was useless.

Then both men's heads snapped towards each other and each was lifted off his feet by a sniper's bullet, and his head snapped to the side as he tried to figure out why on earth whoever had fired had decided to save his behind instead of someone else's—and saw only blue uniforms still on their feet, and, while more than a few looked considerably worse for wear, there were only two Gallian soldiers crumpled on the ground.

Lannes blinked.

 _Only two?_

He ran around _Thistle_ 's front to the other side, suddenly conscious of the fact that there was no firing going on that he could hear, although the ground was still shaking, probably because the _Batomys_ was still grinding forward. He rounded the corner, only to find that there were no Imps still able to fight there, either, and only two defenders fallen, although several looked like an Imp had gotten some licks in before being dropped.

 _Impossible,_ Lannes thought, but shook himself. If it had happened, it was possible, and his troops were beginning to come to their feet, realizing what they'd just done despite the fact that they were too drained to be elated at it. He opened his mouth, but then saw that the engineers were already moving to take care of the problem.

Then he coughed and hacked, realized that his mouth and throat were coated in dust, and opened his canteen to take a swig of water to clear it out and ensure that he could speak in something better than a croak.

Then he called headquarters.

"Captain, this is Lannes."

"Is the flanking force destroyed?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes ma'am," Lannes replied, breathing a sigh of relief at the fact that the rest of the regiment was still alive.

"Good," she replied. "Berthelmy's sealing off the entrance to the gulch right now, and Falder's coming behind him. They'll be sweeping along the edge of the ridgeline."

"Ma'am?"

"Gunther's squad has been destroying the cooling system on the _Batomys_ each time it's fired. It's only got one left. Once it goes down, we think it will start to overheat."

"You _think?_ " Lannes replied quietly.

"It's the only chance we have, Lieutenant," Varrot reproved. "Now listen. I need your squad over here _now._ Landzaat's force was practically wiped out."

Lannes was shocked. Landzaat was a good squad leader. What had happened?

He must have said that last part aloud, because Varrot answered. "It was a Valkyria, Lieutenant. She tore a hole into his force's center, and it was all over but the screaming from there. The only reason anyone survived was because Landzaat figured out that firing tank shells at it caused it to stop to deflect them."

The truth was that Lannes barely heard that last part. The Imps had a _Valkyria?_ How were his men supposed to stand up to _that?_ A legend come out of the past, that could defeat the civilization that could create something like the Barious Desert?

"Understood, ma'am," he heard himself reply as he desperately tried to maintain his composure in the face of certain doom. "Be advised that I have wounded, and am currently at approximately 70% strength. Request medical assistance."

"They should be there in a minute or two, Lieutenant," Captain Varrot replied. "I sent them your way the moment that creature appeared. No point in sending them in there."

 _That makes me feel so much better,_ Lannes thought. "We'll move as soon as we can, Captain," he said. "Two minutes, tops."

"Make it one, Lieutenant. If Gunther kills the _Batomys_ , they will withdraw to protect the Prince. We'll need troops for the pursuit. And if he doesn't, you should be able to fall back through the gulch."

"Yes ma'am. We're on our way."

"Thank you Lieutenant," Varrot said softly, as though she knew she might have signed his squad's death warrant. "Headquarters out."

 _Right._ "All units," Lannes said into the radio, forcing himself to sound confident. "Resupply, heal, and get the wounded under some tarps fast as you can. The medics will be here," he suddenly caught sight of an ambulance driving hell-for-leather across the sand, "now. Skip the shelter and get into your teams. Gunther should kill the _Batomys_ soon, and when he does they'll need troops to pursue when the Imps withdraw because their fancy toy's broken. That's us. We move in one minute."

Crichton swiveled _Thistle_ around as the squad reorganized and prepared for what was coming next. _Note to self: Rodgers is getting his own team. Soonest._

"Sir?" he heard Traherne ask from behind him.

"What is it, Sergeant?"

"There's something the Captain told you that you didn't mention," the sergeant said quietly, so no one else could hear.

"Yes, there was, Sergeant," Lannes replied. "It's not just the _Batomys_ we're up against. It's a Valkyria."

"A _Valkyria?_ "

"I wouldn't have believed it if it weren't the Captain telling it to me."

Lannes paused, then looked at Sergeant Traherne. "Should I tell the others?" he asked.

Traherne looked steady, but his voice shook a little as he answered. "It's your decision, sir. But if you want my advice, I'd tell them. It'll be a lot worse if it's sprung on them."

"Right," Lannes replied. "That makes sense. Thank you. I'll tell them when we get moving. Your team ready?"

"Just about, sir. I should get back to them."

The squad was almost in formation when the ambulance squealed to a halt right next to him. Fina jumped out. "Where are the wounded?" she snapped.

"Ours are right there," Lannes replied, pointing to where the rest of the troops had placed the Gallian wounded in the relative shade provided by the sandbags, and he winced as he was able to recognize who'd been badly injured. Ivor, Delmon, Seydlitz, and Falken were all down, and he swore under his breath. He was supposed to keep them _safe,_ curse it. "The Imps…" he continued, and trailed off as his eyes followed his pointing arm.

It seemed like the sand was covered in feldgrau and red bodies, some moving, most not. He knew it wasn't—there were, at most, seventy or eighty Imp corpses spread out over the last quarter of a mile—but it was more death than he'd ever seen in one place before.

But there was no time for that. "Imp wounded are spread down to a bit past those outcroppings down there," he said flatly. "I don't know how many of them will still be alive, but we have orders to go," he looked at his watch, "now. I'm sorry."

"I understand, Lieutenant," the medic replied. "Go. And kill that blue creature," she snarled, and Lannes remembered why she'd been sent over here first thing.

"Understood," he replied. "I'll see what I can do."

"You'd better," she replied, and went to the wounded as Lannes took one last look around to make sure there wasn't anything else he needed to do.

There wasn't, he was pretty sure it had been just a bit longer than a minute, and they had places to go. He turned, ran to _Thistle,_ scrambled aboard, and took a brief look around to make sure everyone was in their places before he spoke into the radio.

"Let's go," he said simply, and as the squad moved forward he continued. "One thing. I'm telling you this now so you aren't shocked when we get there, but the Imps have a Valkyria fighting for them." He almost felt the stutter in the squad's movement forward, but they kept going, and he felt a moment of fierce pride in his soldiers. _May I be worthy of them,_ he thought, and continued. "We're going to drive it off," he said coldly, "we're going to bring down Maximilian, and we're going to give every last one of these Imps the Gallian soil they so crave—six feet under. _Forward,_ " he snarled as he heard a massive explosion up ahead and the ground shook under his feet.

They moved forward quickly, scouts out ahead just in case the Imps had sent a block force, and as they got closer to the battlefield Lannes began to see a black cloud of smoke begin to rise over the ridgeline.

When they turned the last bend in the gulch before reaching the temple area, everyone stopped for a moment to gawk at the sight before them. Ordinarily they would have been looking at the massive temple that seemed to be here for no reason, but today it hardly registered.

Today, Squad 7 was swarming the _Batomys._ Lancers fired into its left side and rear, while a figure wreathed in blue flame fired bolts of light from a white lance at the _Edelweiss_ as the tank tried to take out Imp footsoldiers. Then, suddenly, the behemoth gouted smoke and flame as a lance found something vulnerable, and the blue figure ran forward.

 _Looks like Gunther pulled it off,_ Lannes thought.

"Let's go!" he ordered, and Squad Two went into battle for the third time that day as more Gallian troops appeared on the ridge where the temple stood, the blue figure covered the retreat of—somebody, probably Maximilian.

There were still a _lot_ of Imp troops, though, with tanks aplenty. It looked like there were at least three companies down there, and—they were running.

Lannes blinked and rubbed his eyes as _Thistle_ rocked over a small dip in the ground, then squinted, absently noticing two Imp tanks go up in smoke as he looked carefully at the Imp forces.

They were _running._ They weren't falling back. This was no orderly withdrawal, this was a full-scale _rout,_ and Lannes felt the adrenaline surge through him. His troops could see what was in front of them as well as he could, but he was going to give the order for pursuit anyway.

"Squad 2," he called, waving his MAG forward, "Tally-ho!"

And the Gallians swarmed forward, Squad 7 flowing around the wreck of the _Batomys,_ his squad charging behind _Thistle,_ and the squads by the temple moving quickly to attempt to cut off any Imp retreat.

Then he saw the Valkyria come forward, and he remembered that Landzaat firing tank rounds at the thing had been the only thing that even slowed it down. But the _Edelweiss_ was in the lead—maybe its gun could break the thing's defenses.

Gunther's tank stopped and fired.

The Valkyria crouched behind its shield.

The shell almost seemed to go…elsewhere.

The creature stood, paused, and then turned away.

Gallia had won, but he did not feel victorious.

He really didn't know how he was going to put this in the letter he hadn't yet written.


	10. Interlude: Letters from War II

_One of the main reasons why social reforms are more difficult to achieve than political ones is that social change affects people's everyday lives in a way that political reforms do not…War offers a double-edged sword to the would-be reformer. On the one hand, the disruption caused by war may affect the social structure in such a way as to create a space in which reform can be achieved. On the other hand, it may also create a desire to hold to familiar customs and traditions as everything else seems to shift and change._

Excerpted with permission from _A Social History of the Second Europan War_ , Amalie Rigolet; Varrot Books, 1973

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
May 17, 1935

Julia,

I'm sorry. I suppose I was comparing those fights to Gunther's battle at the main supply base. That, and, honestly, I didn't want you to worry. The squad is good at fighting, and the Imps really aren't that good at shooting.

But I understand what you're saying, and I'll try to be more forthright in my next letters. This letter will be good practice, as nothing really dangerous has happened since the Wildwood. One thing you might find interesting is that our training is starting to include more scenario-oriented events, pitting squads against each other. It's more intense than you might expect—ragnite allows things to be pretty realistic—but that's a good thing. We've done fairly well so far.

Looking forward to your next letter.

Regards,

Heinrich

* * *

Captain,

As you requested,

Battle of the Barious Desert Review

Positives: The squad handled sudden changes in the situation extremely well, especially given that nearly a third of the soldiers were from the most recent draft. Also, the addition of Sergeant Crichton and his tank provided a significant boost to the squad's combat effectiveness. Furthermore, the squad did not flinch when told they might face a Valkyria.

Negatives: The fact that the Imperial forces have a Valkyria is a problem. Also, Lieutenant Landzaat seems extremely troubled, and rightfully so, by what happened to his squad. However, he is still in command of himself, and I would have no qualms with having him on my flank.

Overall Summary: The desert allowed us to exploit our range advantage ruthlessly, and Imperial forces did not seem nearly as well-coordinated as they were in the Wildwood. Based on what we were able to gather from the Imperial prisoners, neither Prince Maximillian nor General Bles, the Valkyria and the commander of the operation, knows how to handle troops in the field. The latter apparently relies primarily on personal inspiration and her powers for her effectiveness in the field, and it shows. However, as seen by what happened to Landzaat's squad, said powers can compensate for organizational weaknesses. We are fortunate that the Imperials placed such a high priority on keeping their prince safe.

Also, I am withdrawing my request for a man-portable radio. I would like a second tank as soon as possible.

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
May 24, 1935

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
May 24, 1935

Dad,

Would you please tell me what it is that I am supposed to do about Jeanne's behavior, assuming that it's happening? Remember, the person telling you this is Marie Visser, who both dislikes our family very much and would not need to act in order to play a maiden aunt on stage. I'm not entirely convinced that she knows where babies come from. And even if it is happening, I can't do anything about it. No leave has been granted us, and with good reason. Whenever we're not marching or fighting, we're training, and we need it desperately.

I'm sure you've heard about what happened in the Barious Desert in the papers. A lot of it is true—Gunther really did pull one out of his hat, and his squad really did take down the _Batomys_ singlehandedly. More than that I can't say right now.

The squad finally seems to be settling in, though—it's been three weeks since I've seen any injuries that seem more appropriate to barracks brawls than training injuries. I suspect that's because certain people were giving as good as they got, and maybe certain other people have figured out that the uniform's what matters.

It's good to hear that things are going reasonably well back home.

Your son,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
May 24, 1935

Jeanne,

You really need to do something to reassure our father that you aren't engaged in wild orgies. Apparently old lady Visser is the source of his information. Before you write back furiously, I already pointed out that she might not even know what sex is, and that she also despises our family on general principles. But, for Dad's sake, could you please send him something? Or, better yet, try and find out if anyone around you is related to the old biddy.

I will say, based on some of the stories, more than a few of the soldiers in your unit have a screw loose or two. Then again, I don't have much room to talk about that. Some of my fellow lieutenants—look, take Gunther. I'm sure you've been reading about him. The man's a tactical genius, and can spot the chinks in an Imp defense line better than I can eyeball a bad balance sheet. But he should _not_ be let out without a minder. Rumor has it that the man tried to compliment a girl by saying that she looked like a beetle.

The fighting this time was a little rough, but the squad made it through. You might've heard certain rumors, but they're nothing to worry about. The Imps have a tendency to build single examples of very complicated weapons. I'm not sure why, but they tend to have deadly weaknesses.

Love,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
May 24, 1935

Julia,

I don't know what you might have heard about the Barious desert, but we were nowhere near the _Batomys_. The only Imps we ran into were normal infantry and tanks—and they went down fairly easily. It got a little hairy once or twice, but everything worked out well. Also, I agree with you—it was good to see some vengeance for Ghirlandaio's dead.

Within the squad, everything seems to be fine. We received some new people shortly before going to the Barious, but they did quite well. I'm glad your unit hasn't had to deal with a lot of new drafts, though—it seems like the kind of operation that wouldn't do well with a sudden influx of newcomers. Also, from what I could see, I'm not sure where you'd put them.

As to your question about the other lieutenants, they're good people. Landzaat's a deep thinker, kind of fellow who reads about politics for fun. Wilders is the peacemaker—always defusing arguments. Berthelmy's big and loud, but he can back it up. Falder's the only one I knew, back at the university—always up for a party or a fight. Gunther is…very odd, but extremely capable. Enjolras can be a bit petty, but he comes through when the chips are down. Kanawa's pretty stiff in person, but on the battlefield he's very flexible. I wouldn't have any qualms about any of them covering my flank.

It seems like that's mostly the case with your fellows—I hope that's so. War's not pleasant, but without friends it's well-nigh unbearable.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Regards,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
June 2, 1935

Dad,

We're still stooging around in the Barious Desert, for reasons unknown. They've been using us to clear out some of the Imps who got left behind when they routed after we destroyed the _Batomys._ It's been fairly easy, despite the fact that they've set up on these small conical hills, I suppose as some kind of observation posts.

When we're not doing that, we're pulling guard duty at the Valkyrian temple. No one seems to get why the Imps came all the way out here, although one of the other lieutenants says he's got an idea, but he's not willing to share it yet. I think maybe they thought they'd find some kind of weapon there, but I can't imagine why they'd think that. According to one of the troops, everything that's accessible in the temple was picked over centuries ago.

Also, I'm glad that you've decided to stop worrying about Jeanne. That having been said, I'm not encouraged by what you were saying about the increasing friction between the people back home and the refugees. I guess it was inevitable, but it shouldn't last too much longer. We're taking territory back, just you wait and see.

I hope the next place we take back isn't like this, though. I never want to fight in the desert again.

Your son,

Heinrich

* * *

Captain,

I'm not sure who I might tell this to, so I'm sending this to you. Based on Gunther and Landzaat's reports, we know the Imperials were able to access parts of the temple no one had been able to for centuries. Could this have something to do with the Imperial Valkyria?

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
June 2, 1935

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
June 2, 1935

Jeanne,

I'm not sure why it happened, but Dad seems to have finally stopped believing everything old lady Visser tells him. I'm not sure why he believed her in the first place, but at least he's stopped.

As to us, we're still in the desert, and we're bored. The only thing left to do is explore the ruins, which has its own set of problems—including pranksters. Just yesterday, we had a couple go wandering off into the ruins to get some time alone, which by now is almost a normal occurrence, and about five minutes later they came back, trying to run as best they could with their boots off, screaming about ghostly shadows walking around. Naturally I and Traherne, along with some of the others, went to investigate. Turned out it was just one of our engineers who had a knack for shadow puppets and decided to see if he could scare someone with them.

I pointed out to him that scaring people with access to firearms was a good way to get himself shot. I really hope we get called out of here soon.

Looking forward to your next letter. Stay safe.

Love,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
June 2, 1935

Julia,

It was good to get your letter. It was nice to finally have names for the older people mentoring you. Gerson and Frake, eh? Sounds like a comedy duo. Kidding aside, hearing that things were going well, and that the kitchen's being kept busy, was a welcome change of pace from what's been going on around here lately.

It's been a bit rough, honestly. We've had some fighting—and believe me when I say it wasn't bad, just a few Imps left behind from when we took out the _Batomys_ and ran them off from the Valkyrian temple—but the troops are getting bored, and as you can imagine that does not result in them forming debating societies.

Well, they do, but the debates are over who can drink the most without passing out and whether or not someone cheated at cards. It's not as bad as it could be, though—they could be arguing over the Darcsen Calamity. I guess everyone's agreed not to talk about that sort of thing, and I'm not going to complain about that. Besides, we've enough enemies as it is.

The truth is that I'm bored. I keep hearing about how we're liberating more territory, which is excellent, but I keep wondering why we're not there. I mean, the 3rd has one of the best records in the whole army right now, why are we pulling garrison duty in the middle of the desert?

Enough of my complaining. You asked me to tell you a little more about the squad. Sergeant Alan Traherne's an old soldier, served ever since he joined up before the last war, and I think could run the squad just as well without me. Sergeant Mila Yancey's not been in nearly that long, but she knows what she's doing. Corporal Ike Rogers is even newer to this than I am—he wasn't even in the Watch before the Imps crashed into his hometown—and but he's shaped up well. Sergeant Abraham Crichton's the newest of the group—he runs the tank—but he made it through the last one easily enough.

Looking forward to your next letter.

Regards,

Heinrich

* * *

Captain,

As you requested,

Second Battle of Kloden Review

Positives: Much the same as the previous report. The squad's proficiency has only gotten better. Also, it appeared that everyone reacted to the sudden change in situation extremely quickly and extremely well. Finally, Imperial forces seem to be more casualty-conscious than they were previously.

Negatives: Once again, Imperial forces under General Jaeger's command have proved to be as tactically flexible as we are, at least until the wheels come off their plans. It is also worrisome that the regulars did not inform us that they had been driven back from the positions they had previously occupied. Had this happened, we might not have nearly lost Squad 7

Overall Summary: There was precious little to be learned from this fight on my end, other than the aforementioned note about the new Imperial sensitivity to casualties, and that we have considerably improved since the last time we were in the Wildwood. Also, we've discovered that Jaeger's influence has significant limits, and it's likely that it doesn't extend much further than two levels down from him.

That having been said, if we never face troops under his command again, I will not complain.

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes  
3rd Militia Regiment  
June 29, 1935


	11. Out of the Wildwood

_Radi Jaeger's contribution to the Gallian invasion has been heavily downplayed by Imperial, Gallian, and Federation historians, largely due to the fact that afterwards he led the guerrilla war that eventually led to freedom for his homeland of Fhirald. However, his contributions were extremely significant, largely because he was one of the few Imperial generals capable of recovering from defeat. As he proved at Norville…_

Excerpted with permission from _A History of the Second Europan War_ , William Hackett; University of Chimay; 1968

"Curse it," Lannes said flatly when he looked around at what he could see of the terrain around him from on top of _Thistle_ and compared it to where they were supposed to be on the map.

"Is there a problem, sir?" Sergeant Traherne asked quietly.

"You might say so, Sergeant," Lannes replied. "It looks like we shouldn't have trusted that road sign. According to this map, we're four miles away from where we need to be."

"You sure, sir?"

"Positive, Sergeant," Lannes sighed wearily as he jumped off the tank. "We're supposed to be _here,_ " he said, pointing to where the trail they were supposed to be on crossed the road between Norville and Randgriz. "Instead, we're _here,_ " he said flatly as he stabbed his finger into an area four miles from there. "Remember that ridge we crossed a mile back? If we were where we were supposed to be, we'd've come down right onto the road."

Traherne cursed. "Are you going to call the Captain?"

"She needs to know what's going on. Tell the troops we're going to be here a little longer."

"Right." As Traherne moved away, Lannes patched into the tank's radio and called Varrot. "Captain, this is Lieutenant Lannes. We're not where we're supposed to be."

Varrot's voice crackled back over the radio. "You too, Lieutenant?"

"Ma'am?"

"Almost everyone's been calling in to report that they aren't at their assigned bivouac sites. It's almost like someone switched the road signs. We're scattered through this whole section of forest. The only people who are where they're supposed to be are Falder and Kanawa, and I still haven't heard from Gunther."

Lannes took a moment to silently curse the orders that sent the 3rd through this arm of the Wildwood by squads. Given that many of the roads were trails, at best, it made a certain amount of sense, but this revelation was making his skin crawl.

"Captain," he said slowly, "I think…"

A dull _crump_ sounded through the still night air somewhere off to their east. Lannes clambered up the side of the tank to try and spot where the explosion had happened. He peered out into the darkness, and realized that he was an idiot. He then looked down at the map. It looked like there was a trail that went down that way from that four-way intersection where they'd ended up on _this_ trail…  
"Captain," he said into the radio, "this is Lieutenant Lannes, and I suspect that one of our squads is under attack. Will move to their aid if not ordered otherwise."

"Negative, Lieutenant," Varrot replied. "Received transmission from Squad 7. That mortar round just cut off Lieutenant Gunther and Sergeant Melchiott from the rest of the squad. They attempted a rescue, but came under attack from an Imperial assault company and had to withdraw. They've set up a defensive position. Sergeant Potter thinks there may be more ambushes, and," Varrot paused, "I agree with him."

Lannes furiously scanned the map. "It looks like that trail and the one I'm on intersect about two miles south. Request permission to move to that intersection and then attempt to relieve Squad 7 in the morning."

"Permission granted, Lieutenant," Varrot replied. "Be careful."

"Yes ma'am." Lannes shifted frequencies. "Squad 2, listen up. If you didn't hear that explosion in the distance, that was the sound of Squad 7 getting ambushed. They've fallen back, but they're going to need help in the morning. We're moving south to an intersection between their trail and ours. Diamond formation, and stay sharp. There might be more out there."

Within thirty seconds, they were moving down the trail, Lannes walking beside _Thistle_ —he only got on top of the tank when it was time for battle or when he needed to look around.

About half a mile in, Lannes was trying to figure out what the plan was for tomorrow when he heard someone slide into step beside him and looked to his right.

"Sergeant Traherne?"

"Good evening sir."

"Sergeant, far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, but shouldn't you be taking point with your team?"

Traherne chuckled. "Friedrich's on point. I figured I'd give him a chance to do it outside of training without me holding his hand."

Lannes looked over at Traherne skeptically as they trudged along. "He's that good?"

The sergeant nodded. "He's a natural, sir. Took to scouting like a duck to water. Common for Darcsens, actually."

Lannes winced. Ghirlandaio Town hadn't had a lot of Darcsen-haters—it was nothing like Randgriz or Fouzen—but being close to the Empire meant that certain attitudes filtered over the border. He supposed that a certain talent for situational awareness was conducive to survival, but he wanted to find out a bit more.

"Common for Darcsens?"

"Yes sir," Traherne replied. "You know what happened during the first war?"

"Yes," Lannes said, "we called up Darcsens into combat roles within the militia for the first time."

"We did," the sergeant responded. "And a lot of the soldiers weren't happy about it. I know I wasn't." He paused. "I remember the Naggiar. You couldn't poke your head up above the trench, or a sniper would kill you. That was before we developed ragnite stabilization.

"And when those Darcsens showed up—city boys and girls, the lot of them—I never thought they'd adapt quick enough. But they did. So used to keeping their heads down and looking for enemies that trench living came second nature." He paused. "Then I wasn't sure if they would fight. How wrong I was."

He shook his head. "I remember that first trench raid I took some of them along. I was a corporal then. Thought I'd have to do most of the work." He snorted. "I practically had to drag them back to our lines. They fought like they had something to prove." He paused again. "I guess they did. They were some of our deadliest trench raiders and scouts. Saved my tail more than once."

He grinned then. "So don't worry sir. Your friend's a worthy heir to that tradition."

Lannes nodded. "As long as you're sure." He looked around. "How are the troops?"

"Doing well, sir. A bit of grumbling about the night march and us not being where we should be, but they know it's the Imps. They'll be ready to fight tomorrow."

"Good. Because something tells me that relieving Squad 7 isn't going to be easy."

* * *

Dawn broke as Lannes, having received a briefing from Captain Varrot on the actual situation prevailing around Norville, snarled softly in frustration.

"Something wrong, sir?" Traherne asked.

"Get Yancey and Rogers over here," Lannes said tightly, desperately trying not to betray any sign of the sheer rage that was threatening to engulf him. "The situation's worse than we thought."

As Traherne left, Crichton pulled himself out of the tank. "What's wrong, sir? I couldn't hear much, but it sounded like the Captain was ready to tear someone's head off."

"Oh, she is, Sergeant," Lannes replied. "But I'm going to wait until everyone's here to explain what's going on right now."

"Is it bad, sir?"

"Extremely," he said flatly as he caught sight of the other three noncoms hurrying over. He waited until they were together and he could speak without fear of being overheard by the rest of the troops, who were either on watch or making breakfast.

"Here's the situation. The Imps counterattacked into this area a week ago, while we were mopping up in the Barious. They've been sending scouts into the forest to turn road signs this way and that to try and confuse anyone coming through here. They're dug in heavily, based on some old fortifications from the 1600s."

He looked around for a moment. Everyone understood what he was saying, but he could tell that they didn't understand why he was ready to chew nails. "This area was being held by the 7th and 12th Regiments of the regulars, with the 10th in reserve. They've been trying to retake the area since. And no one saw fit to tell the captain—and, by extension, us—about _any_ of this. Captain only found out about all this because she managed to detain a courier. Apparently the general commanding the brigade didn't want it to get out that he's been pushed back right after we'd beaten the Empire in the desert."

The temperature managed to drop several degrees, despite the fact that it was a warm June morning. He looked around again. Traherne appeared calm, but Lannes knew him well enough to see the signs of strain as he struggled not to disrespect a superior officer. Yancey, Rogers, and Crichton looked equally horrified, disgusted, and angry.

"Fortunately, that courier also told the captain what we were up against. Imps are dug in north of the Kloden River with heavy anti-infiltration defenses. South of the river is where the old fortifications are. They've got mortar cannons, but they're almost all sited north of the river, so we'll probably have to deal with artillery fire as we get in close, and they won't be threatened by any moves we make."

"Any good news, sir?" Yancey asked.

Lannes nodded. "Varrot started moving everyone to the sound of the guns last night. Squad 6 ran into some Imp troops and had to stop, but they're the furthest forward, and they're on the north bank of the river."

"So, we're to relieve Squad 7, then?"

"Yes. The plan is to push up that trail right there," Lannes pointed, "and link up with Squad 7 before the Imps wipe them out."

"Sir, may I point something out?" Traherne asked.

"Certainly, Sergeant."

"Imps almost certainly have an ambush waiting for anyone coming up to relieve Gunther. What's the plan for dealing with that?"

Lannes grinned. Having noncoms who could help you stage-manage meetings without exchanging a single word was wonderful. "Yancey's and Rogers' teams, _Thistle,_ and myself, will push up the road. Sergeant Traherne, you're going to take your team and the snipers up the side of the ridge, next to the trail. According to the map, they run in parallel nearly to where Squad 7 is. When you see an ambush, go to ground. And then, when we roll up, start shooting."

Traherne grinned. "Only thing worse than being ambushed is being ambushed while ambushing. Yes, sir."

"Any questions? And have you eaten?"

"No sir, yes sir," four voices said in unison.

"Traherne, you move in ten minutes. The rest of us go in fifteen. Get ready."

Traherne stayed behind a moment. "Have you eaten, sir?"

Lannes startled as he realized that he hadn't had breakfast yet that morning. "Come to think of it, I haven't, Sergeant."

"The lieutenant would probably find it advisable to eat before battle," the sergeant said in a carefully neutral tone.

Lannes felt his mouth twitch and suppressed a smile. "Don't worry, Sergeant. I'll eat breakfast," he said, but turned when he heard a motor coming down the trail they'd come down last night. A motor that was moving towards them at very unsafe speeds for a forest trail.

He had to clamp his jaw shut hard in order to keep it from dropping when he saw that it was an ambulance and that Fina was driving it like Hel was on her heels. She slammed the thing to a halt only about ten yards from them and jumped out, muttering a bit as she did so.

"Fina?" Lannes asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Captain sent me here to provide medical assistance. Everyone else is on the main road, and that's where Gina and Mina are. She thinks you'll reach Squad 7 first."

"The sun just came up ten minutes ago."

"The ambulance has headlights, Lieutenant," she snapped, then softened slightly. "I appreciate your concern. But people are going to need my help, and you're about to be going, aren't you?"

Lannes looked to the side and realized that Traherne was already gone.

"Yes, we are," he said with a sigh. "Keep the ambulance back behind the engineers, and don't go running forward until the fighting moves past the wounded, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Fina responded.

Lannes turned to see if he could warm some water for his breakfast on _Thistle_ 's radiator, then thought of something and turned back. "Fina," he said carefully. "If and when we hit an Imp ambush we probably won't be able to stick around any longer than necessary to take care of _our_ wounded."

The medic's eyes flashed briefly, but she nodded and sighed. "I understand, Lieutenant. But do not hinder me when Squad 7 is relieved."

"I won't."

"Good," she nodded, and then went back to the ambulance. Lannes got back to heating up his water, and, once he got his cup settled in place, decided to walk around a little himself. He looked over to where Traherne was prepping his team and the snipers, and decided that he would do little more than distract them. So he went over to where Yancey and Rogers were discussing matters with their teams.

"Everything all right?" he asked as he came up.

"Right as rain, sir," Rogers replied, voice fit to shake the trees. "Everyone's just about ready. Does feel a little odd, though, sir."

"What does?"

"We've never had to fight the Imps like this, sir. Every other time we could retreat if it could got hairy. But we can't do that this time, can we, sir? We're on a rescue mission."

But that wasn't the only question, Lannes understood that. Rogers wanted him to explain why they _should_ put themselves at risk by going out without the rest of the regiment to save Squad 7, despite the latter's commander managing to get himself separated and the squad ambushed and surrounded. He looked at the others, and while Yancey and some of the others were ready to go, some of the others were doubtful.

"Yes. We're on a rescue mission." He looked around at the soldiers. "I could tell you that we owed Squad 7 one for taking out the _Batomys._ But let's face it, we saved them that day as much as they saved us. I could tell you that we owed them one for their maneuver at Vasel Bridge, but we paid for that by taking out that first flanking force in the Barious.

"So I'm not going to. Here's what I am going to tell you." His voice hardened as he thought back to Ghirlandaio town. "We're going to relieve them because that's what you do. I've been where I was facing overwhelming odds with no hope of reinforcement, and that is not happening to anyone else if I can help it. They are our comrades, and we will not let them die alone.

"Instead, we're going to go save them. We're going to wipe out any Imps that try to stop us. And then," he paused, wondered briefly if what he was about to say was over the top, then decided to go with it, "we're going to show them that Squad 2 is second to none. _Is that understood?_ "

"Yes, sir," Rogers responded, and Lannes looked at him carefully. He looked like he was ready to go, and so did the others, and Heinrich Lannes smiled nastily.

"Good. Let's go kill us some Imps. Carry on."

He quickly walked back to the tank. His water was probably about to boil over, and he wanted his breakfast. Not very dramatic, but a man had to eat, even if it was scarfing down porridge on the back of a tank.

The main body moved out with five seconds to spare from the time he'd set. Traherne had moved out six minutes before.

As Lannes trudged beside _Thistle,_ he considered the situation carefully. The main body was in arrow formation, not diamond, which meant they had to move through the woods, although still probably slightly faster than Traherne's men. Ridgelines tended to be rockier than the valleys.

There were, however, potential pitfalls. The first was Imperial deployment. If he was right, the Imp ambush would be deployed in an L-shape to avoid hitting each other, one across the road and one on the ridge. If the Imp commander was a bit clever, however, he might deploy his men on the downslope instead, which would be extremely unexpected.

He really hoped whoever was in command wasn't that clever, although whoever was commanding the Imp forces was far too imaginative for his liking. Hopefully that hadn't sunk down to his junior officers.

As it happened, it hadn't. Just as they started hearing mortar fire up the road ahead, gunfire began to crackle on the ridge above them. At that point, the Imps on the road opened fire.

Lannes' jaw dropped. Four gatlings ripped loose, scything into the scouts, while two anti-tank guns hammered _Thistle_ and three Imp assault teams stood up and began to move forward.

But, almost as soon as they began, three of the gatlings fell silent, and Lannes clambered up the side of the tank as the scouts in front of the last one dodged back and away while the lancers opened fire on it and the anti-tank guns while Crichton gunned it forward to make sure he could cover the scouts from the shocktroopers.

The Imps halted at that point, which was exactly the worst decision they could have made. If they'd pushed forward they could have at least overrun the scout elements and caused some serious casualties. As matters stood, they'd just lost their heavy weapons, from what he and they could hear their force on the ridge was being rolled up like a cheap rug, and they had no tanks.

Every advantage they usually had they didn't except for numbers, and that they didn't have much of.

So they hesitated.

That hesitation was fatal.

Crichton lofted a mortar round into a group of shocktroopers who'd clumped up together, while Lannes turned his MAG on a lancer to their front right who was unlimbering his weapon to try and bring down _Thistle._ As a result, out of the corner of his eye he saw Yancey leading her shocktroopers forward, firing from the hip, while the scouts and engineers provided cover fire. The sounds from behind him indicated that Rogers was doing the same thing, and then suddenly three red-uniformed men dropped again, and the Imp team on Yancey's right broke and ran.

That did it, and the Imp line began to unravel as the full realization hit them that their ambush had failed completely and their opponent, far from being shaken and riven by fire, was actually sweeping forward in formation and outflanking them.

The center team fled next, as they noticed that the team on their flank was running, followed by the team to Lannes' left. A few soldiers, most in red uniforms, attempted to stand their ground, but the scouts brought them down with a few well-placed shots.

And now, it was time to charge. " _Forward!_ " Lannes yelled, and they moved forward, hard on the heels of the Imp ambush force, the engineers patching up _Thistle_ as they ran down the survivors, Traherne's team firing down from the heights at the one attempt some of the faster and smarter ones made to set up a defensive position, breaking it up before any of the main body even got in range.

Five minutes and two hundred yards after first contact was made, the firing stopped. There was no one left to shoot, which meant it was time to find out how many had fallen.

Lannes spoke into the radio. "Sergeant Traherne, fire one shot if you hear this message, then one for each of your casualties."

A single shot came from the ridge.

Lannes' jaw came near to sagging. No casualties? At all?

"Rogers? Yancey?"

There was no answer, but when Lannes looked around he saw the two teams come out of the woods, carrying their fallen. Bullfinch, Derfflinger, Guildenstern, and Gérard were all down, but everyone else was still on their feet, and Lannes blinked in disbelief. Had the Imps just been shooting to miss, or something?

But he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Sergeant Traherne," he ordered into the radio. "Get reorganized, and move out when you're done. Fire one shot if you acknowledge, and another when you move."

A shot came from the ridge.

"Rogers, Yancey, Crichton. Do the same. We move when we get our wounded in the ambulance." Lannes heard a motor coming up the trail. "Which is now."

No one stopped to ask about the Imps. The fighting up ahead sounded like it was building up, and stopping to take care of their wounded was a risk. No one would shed any tears for them. Well, Fina might, but Fina was a medic. That was her job.

The glare she threw at him after he told her that they were going forward as soon as the Gallian wounded were taken care of was both impressive and, he could tell, half-hearted. She could hear the sounds of battle ahead as well as he, and not even a medic was immune from seeing the uniform first.

The four wounded were stabilized and loaded into the ambulance as another shot sounded from the ridge, the squad shook out into formation again, and they moved out to the sound of the guns, which only got louder as they approached, and Lannes grew concerned as he began to see smoke through the cover of the trees. Worse, he wasn't sure if the smoke was recent or if they'd only just gotten close enough to see it through the tree cover.

At that moment, Varrot's voice broke in over the radio. "Lieutenant, come in."

"Yes captain?"

"We just got word from Squad 7. Gunther's alive!"

"What?"

"They were standing on a bank when the mortar round that got them lost landed behind them and caused it to slide. Gunther's leading with the _Edelweiss_ , and they're starting to push forward. Where are you?"

"Quarter-mile, maybe, Captain? How are things where you are?"

"Falder and Berthelmy are pushing along the riverbank, meeting heavy resistance. Mortar fire and gatlings, mostly. Enjolras and Wilders are fought out. We've intercepted some radio traffic, though. If you and Gunther can take those old ruins, the Imperials have orders to fall back. Get it done quickly, though. If I have to put Kanawa and Landzaat in…"

Lannes nodded, although Varrot couldn't see him. Squad 1/3 was barely the size of a reinforced team after Kloden and the Barious, and Landzaat wasn't in good shape.

"Understood. We'll back Gunther's play."

Suddenly, a rather large explosion happened to the north.

"What was that?" Lannes asked.

"I think that was one of their mortar cannons exploding. Push, Lieutenant."

"We'll pry 'em out if I have to use my MAG stock as a lever, "Lannes promised. "Squad 2 out."

He switched the radio. "Squad 2. This is no longer just a rescue mission, it's the potential to win a victory. Let's go."

And as they rocked forward and gunfire began to erupt from the ridgeline, Lannes grinned nastily. Trap his comrades, would they?

* * *

Lannes leaned back against a tree and contendedly munched on some sausage as the Gallian regulars marched past where his squad was resting, not that things had been particularly difficult once they'd managed to scramble over the saddle that had been between the trail they were on and Squad 7. When the latter had unexpectedly gone on the attack, the Imps had been thrown into a state of shock, and once they were deprived of fire support they'd been put permanently on the back foot, and Gunther had managed to pry them out quickly, although he'd had to stop to consolidate.

His troops had been under no such restriction, and while Fina was tending to Squad 7's wounded, they'd pushed forward and broken up an attempted counterattack—which hadn't taken much, just _Thistle_ firing a mortar round—leading to the Imp troops north of the river falling back themselves, which was fortunate, because Varrot had been about to throw her last reserves in.

Unfortunately for the Imps, the 10th Regiment had started moving the night before, and now that the defensive line had been unhinged, they were pushing down to retake Norville while the 3rd rested.

Which was fine by him. He'd had enough fighting for a while.

Maybe they'd get a break once they got back to the base.

 **A/N: The opinions expressed by the protagonist are not necessarily those of the author.**


	12. Midsummer Meeting

_Jean Townsend was the quintessential Atlantic Federation diplomat. Charming, affable, and utterly duplicitous. He was always looking to gain either himself or the Federation any advantage possible, and he was very good at it. This elicited both admiration and envy from his colleagues in the Federation's foreign service. As a result, he was the man chosen to secure an alliance with Gallia in the wake of the Empire's attack…_

Unpublished memoir, Colonel Miles Hayworth, Atlantic Federation Army

It wasn't that Heinrich Lannes was a stick-in-the-mud. Well, he was a little stiff, he'd admit, but even a man much more easygoing than he was would be slightly annoyed by the situation set in front of him. He suppressed his annoyance, however, and spoke civilly.

"Sergeant Traherne," he said dryly, "would you kindly tell me how you came by this information?"

"Well, sir," the scout said, slightly uncomfortably, "I talking with someone I know in the Auxiliary, and she happened to mention that the 4th Field Kitchen was in the same position we are, and the lot of them were planning on going to Harriman's tonight."

"And you, Sergeant, remembered that _Corporal_ Firenze was in said unit."

"Yes sir."

"Sergeant, seeing as I'm an officer and she's enlisted, doesn't that strike you as causing some potential for misunderstanding?" _Drastic_ misunderstanding, Lannes thought. The instructors at the university had been death on any sort of use of rank to assist in amorous endeavors, and with good reason. While he'd never do that, and he was reasonably certain Julia knew that as well, others might not be so aware.

Traherne's face split into a broad grin. "No, sir, not in Harriman's. You've never heard of the place, I take it."

"I've heard of it. It was the most prominent establishment in Randgriz during the last war."

"Yes sir. But do you know the reason why?"

"No."

"Harriman—who still owns the place—did something nobody else in the city did during the last war. He only let soldiers and people with soldiers in, and he had a strict policy of no rank and no service. If you mentioned either, he'd kick you out. What happened there stayed there."

Lannes gave Traherne a skeptical look.

"The first floor's dancing and talking only," the latter said hurriedly. "No monkey business."

"And we all have the evening off?"

"Yes sir. Captain's orders. She said that since Gunther and Landzaat were being honored specifically but everyone had a hand in those victories, we don't need to be back on base until midnight tonight."

"Good of her," Lannes grunted. He liked Gunther—and Landzaat, but that wasn't relevant to the present problem—but it was more than a little frustrating to see high command joining the rest of the populace in acting like Squad 7 was the only one in the regiment. Speaking of thinking of others…

"So what will you be doing, Sergeant?" he asked .

"Oh, nothing much sir. Figured the noncoms'd take the squad out to one of the local places. Should be fun."

Lannes actually smiled. "All right then, Sergeant. Have it your way. I'll go to Harriman's."

"Thank you sir," Traherne replied. "I hope the evening goes well."

"So do I, Sergeant," Lannes said softly as Traherne left the room. "So do I."

* * *

Heinrich Lannes stood in front of Harriman's wearing civilian clothes and feeling mildly uncomfortable. Gallian law didn't forbid wearing civilian clothes while on active duty, exactly—it was just the sort of thing that could lead to probing questions if someone discovered you had military ID. Questions like "Are you planning on deserting?"

Fortunately, he had a pass, which should dispel any of that. There was, however, one thing left to resolve before he went in.

That was the question of where he wanted to try and take tonight, assuming that Traherne was correct and Julia was here. He had no intention of spending the night with her, of course—she wasn't that kind of girl, unless she'd drastically changed in a matter of months, and he wasn't that kind of guy. But that still left a lot of room to maneuver, and judging from the tone of the letter he'd gotten that morning, he thought it was time to fish or cut bait.

There was, of course, the possibility that he'd misunderstood her. But he didn't think so. He'd read over all the letters, from the first one sent after Vasel to the one he'd just gotten, and when read one after the other the steadily warming tone had been blindlingly obvious, and he was kicking himself for not noticing sooner. For that matter, he'd thought about his own letters—including the one he'd sent right after the Barious—and he realized his tone had gotten warmer too.

Well, now or never. Heinrich walked to the doors of the place, taking it in as he did so.

It was a four-story building that took up half the block—he'd heard it had once been a warehouse, before it had been turned to its current use—and it had three doors, each with a short line and a pair of very large gentlemen who should have been lancers standing in front of them. He decided to go for the center door, since that seemed to be the shortest line.

It wasn't long before he got to the front of the line, digging his wallet out of his pocket as he did so.

"ID, sir?" the man on the right asked.

Lannes flipped his wallet open, and the bouncer grunted in approval, then spoke.

"Don't start a fight. Defend yourself if someone else does start one, but if you provoked them, you're out too. Keep things decent out on the dance floor. Nobody's a professional unless they're on stage or tending bar. If you need a room, check-in's on the far right wall. Finally, no rank. That'll get you kicked out surer than anything else. Any questions?"

Heinrich had a few, but they weren't ones this man could answer. "No sir."

"All right. Head on in," the bouncer said, leaned back, and rapped twice on the door.

It swung open, and Heinrich walked into a scene he'd honestly never quite expected to be a part of.

Now that he was inside, he understood why the check-in desk was on the right of the building. The left wall was taken up by a stage where a full-scale big band was playing—and they were good at it, too. Probably the best rendition of "Fouzen Train" he'd ever heard. The dance floor took up the entire left half of the building, and the dancing was—well, it was dancing, and that was about all that could be said for it. Then, starting where the dance floor ended, was a bar that ran almost all the way to the far wall, where stood the check-in desk and what he assumed was a hidden staircase to the upper stories.

He hoped Julia was here, and that he could find her if she was. And if not—well, he'd heard the drinks were cheap.

He realized he'd been standing here too long when someone shouldered him aside and growled "Quit gawkin', boy."

He bridled at that, but shrugged. He _had_ been standing there like an idiot, and he should get out of the doorway and get a drink.

Getting to the bar was a bit of a struggle. He'd underestimated just how crowded the space between the bar and the doors was, although in fairness the lights were a bit low. Once he did make it there, he simply put a couple of ducats down and asked for a drink.

The bartender, who had grey hair, a broken nose, and a shrapnel scar that barely missed his eye, laughed.

"Keep one of those, son. Unless you're paying for someone else, too."

Heinrich blinked. "Mighty generous of you."

The bartender grinned. "Not really. Real profit's in letting rooms for the night. 'Sides, boss has a soft spot for soldiers. Wife's a refugee from the Empire. So, what'll you have?"

"Dark lager, if you've got it."

"Golden Tree suit you?"

"Suits me fine."

"Heinrich?"

The soft female voice saying his name took him completely by surprise, and he turned around to see Julia standing there with a half-pint in her hand.

She was…stunning. He wasn't sure if it was just the fact that he'd spent the last few months mostly seeing women in uniform, or whether it was the first time he'd seen her in normal clothes in months, or something else—probably the something else, honestly—but her dress was both extremely respectable and extremely flattering, her hair perfectly framed her face, and she was smiling cheerfully.

 _Get ahold of yourself, man!_

"Julia," he replied. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too."

He noticed the bartender putting his pint on the counter out of the corner of his eye as he continued. "Do you want to grab a table?"

She nodded. "I would. Very much."

A thought came to his mind. "Did you come with friends?"

Her smile became a little sad. "Yes, but they found dance partners, and I didn't want to spoil their fun. I was just about to leave when I saw someone who I thought was you." She paused, and her next words came out in a rush, as though she was worried that she'd stop herself if she didn't say it quickly. "I'm glad it was."

Heinrich smiled. "So am I," he said as he picked up his pint. "Let's find a table."

Once they were seated, Heinrich raised his mug. "To looking around."

"To looking around," Julia echoed as she clinked her mug against his, and they both quaffed their beer. At least he assumed she was having beer.

"So," she said, "I heard about Norville."

He immediately raised the mug to his lips again. He had seriously been hoping not to have this conversation in person.

"Not everyone would have stuck themselves out like that," she continued, in a tone of utter neutrality.

"It needed doing," he replied.

"From what the article said, they held out quite well on their own," she continued, still in that carefully neutral tone.

"You weren't there," he said softly. "It was near-on midnight when they got cut off. All we knew was that they'd run into Imps, in force, and lost their squad leader and tank commander as well as their squad sergeant. We didn't know that those two were still alive, and if we had known, we couldn't have known that they'd make it back to their squad in time. So I did the best I knew how to at the time, and that meant trying to get my comrades out of a jam. _Because that's what you do_."

"Heinrich," she said softly, her tone cracking slightly. "I'm sorry. It's just…never mind."

Maybe that last bit had gone a little too far.

"I apologize if that seemed like I took what you said personally," he began, but she placed her mug on the table and cut him off.

"No, it's not that. It's that…well, you just keep doing these things. They don't talk about you or your squad much in the papers, but I know that if someone's mentioned at _all_ they've done something impressive, which usually means it's dangerous. I know you're an infantryman, and I know you won't lead from anywhere but the front, and that you'll go where the fighting's hottest." She looked him dead in the face. "Valkyrur curse it, Heinrich, I'm worried about you."

Well, _that_ was certainly gratifying, but the look on Julia's face said she hadn't meant to say all that, and he was going to have move a lot faster than he had been planning on.

He put his hand on the table and kept his eyes on her. "I'm grateful for that, and I get it. If you weren't in the Auxiliary, I'd worry about you too. But I have to do the best I know how." He softened his tone as best he could, cursing the harshness that had been creeping into his voice from inhaling cordite and ragnite fumes. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," she replied, and let go of her mug to put her hand in his. "I do. And I don't think I'd be as worried about you if you didn't do the things that make me worry."

The band swung into another number.

"How well do you dance, Julia?"

"Not well at all."

"Neither do I. Do you want to finish your drink and then go for a walk?"

"I'd like that. I'd like that very much. Let me just tell the girls that I'm leaving."

* * *

They walked down the street, arm-in-arm, as they had for the past two hours. Heinrich almost wasn't sure when they'd shifted to that from hand-holding, but they were adults who'd known each other for some time, after all. Things could be expected to move…slightly faster than they would if they'd just met.

"Did you know I would be there?" Julia asked.

He decided to make a clean breast of it. "My platoon sergeant told me that your unit was going to Harriman's, and implied very strongly that I should show up as well. So I did."

Julia laughed. "I'm sorry, I should have told you. I caught him sneaking glances at us several times when we were talking, that day in Vasel."

Heinrich grinned. "Never figured him to be some kind of romantic."

"No, I don't think that was it at all," she said, suddenly serious. "I think he could see what I saw that day."

"Oh? What was that?"

She stopped and turned to face him. "You're a good man, Heinrich. But if there was ever someone who might lose himself doing what you're doing, it's you. That's not necessary to be a good officer, Heinrich. I've seen men and women that's happened to. It's not good, and it doesn't help them or their troops. I think he wanted you to have an anchor."

"Well, I wish he'd've told me," he said with a sigh. "But I'm glad he did."

"So am I," she replied, and didn't move, and kept looking up at him. Almost expectantly.

He might be a little slow on the uptake, but he wasn't an idiot. So he leaned down and kissed her.

She returned it _very_ enthusiastically.

He…really wasn't sure what do with the feelings he suddenly felt. But he knew they were somewhat…inappropriate, at the present time.

He really needed to come up for air, now.

So he did.

"How long have you been waiting to do that?" were the first words out of his mouth once he'd breathed for a few seconds.

"Since Vasel," Julia admitted.

"Ah. Well then." He paused. "Do you want to do that again?"

"Yes."

"Well then."

They engaged in a repeat performance. If they did this too long, he might start suffering from oxygen deprivation.

On the other hand, there were worse ways to go.

He broke off the kiss as a sudden realization hit him and looked at his wristwatch.

"Heinrich, a girl could get a real complex if she thought the guy she's sweet on got bored enough with kissing her to look at his watch," she said, in a tone that indicated that she was half-joking. But only half.

"Sorry," he apologized, "but it's nearly eleven, and I need to be back at the base by midnight."

"And we all agreed to meet back in front of Harriman's at eleven thirty," Julia remembered. "Of all the luck. We need to get back now. How far have we walked?"

"I think we went two blocks down, then circled the same block for the past two hours."

"Is that a good sign or a bad one?"

"No idea."

* * *

"You look well tonight, sir," Traherne said with an unrepentant grin on his face as Heinrich Lannes walked through the gate into the regimental section five minutes before midnight.

"Sergeant," he replied, "you will not induce me to tell you anything about what happened. Did the squad have a good time?"

"Indeed they did, sir. And I wouldn't dream of prying into your affairs. Now…"

"Lieutenant!" he heard someone yell out, and he peered down the street to see Hofstra wheeling himself faster than he really should have been down the street.

"What is it, Corporal?" Lannes asked, his good mood now a memory.

"Princess Cordelia, sir! The Federation's kidnapped her! Squad 7's moving to intercept what they think is a transport carrying her to the harbor, but the captain doesn't want any chances taken. She wants you and Squad 2 outside the Federation embassy in thirty minutes."

"Sergeant, get the squad up. I'll get Crichton, then get us some motor transport. The embassy's fifteen minutes away, so move fast. If I'm not at the motor pool by the time you get there, handle it yourself."

"Yes, sir!" Traherne replied, and ran off as Lannes turned to Hofstra.

"Tell Captain Varrot we'll be there by the time she's going to need us there if she needs us."

"Understood, sir."

* * *

Lannes stood in front of the Federation embassy in Randgriz, MAG slung across his chest with three teams of infantry and a tank at his back.

It didn't look like an easy target, but appearances were deceiving. The gates were wrought iron and the wall was stone, but the former would go down if _Thistle_ hit it hard enough and the latter looked thin enough that it wouldn't take more than a couple of lances to blow a hole in it. Furthermore, the snipers had already set themselves up to where they could cover the entire front of the building and take out any lancers or snipers that showed themselves, and as he'd walked forward he'd heard Kat, van Reenan, and the other engineers discussing how many grenades were needed to make a good breaching charge.

Furthermore, Berthelmy and Wilders were already on their way. This wasn't going to be easy, but if he got the go-ahead, the Feds weren't going to have an embassy for very long.

There was a stirring inside the embassy, and a Fed scout came to the gate and shouted out to them. "What are you doing here?"

"We've got every right to be here," Lannes yelled back. "Your territory starts at the wall."

Another man stepped forward, who looked like a Federation officer—a major, Lannes thought, although it was hard to tell. "Do you intend to attack?"

"Not right now."

"Would you care to explain that comment?"

"How about you come on out here, and we'll talk over this like civilized men."

The officer considered it for a moment, then turned his head and called to someone Lannes couldn't see. The gate opened just wide enough to let him out, and he slipped through it and walked calmly up to Lannes as the gate shut with a definitive clang behind him. Surprisingly, he wasn't armed.

"Major Miles Hayworth, Federation Army."

"Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes, Gallian Militia."

They shook hands.

"So, Lieutenant," Hayworth asked, quietly. "I'll ask you again. Why are you in front of this embassy, armed for battle, with a tank that's not even bothering to point its gun in a direction other than the main gate? Your mere _presence_ here is a breach of diplomatic protocol, but one that we'll probably let slide. An attack on the sovereign territory of the Atlantic Federation, however, would be an act of war—one that your country can ill afford."

Cold anger flared in Lannes' gut, and he forced himself to be civil as he responded. "First, Major, your country has _already_ committed an act of war against mine. Second…"

"We have done no such thing!" the Major hissed. "I don't know what you've been told, Lieutenant, but…"

"I've been told," Lannes interrupted coldly, "that your country has kidnapped Princess Cordelia, the reigning monarch of Gallia, and Gallian forces are moving to intercept a group believed to be her and her abductors. If that group reaches the harbor, or is caught and the princess not found, I am under orders to assault this embassy, capture as many of its inhabitants as possible, and search this embassy from top to bottom—if necessary, by dismantling it _brick by brick_. I trust that you understand what I'm doing here _now?_ "

As he finished, Lannes noticed that the major's face had turned ashen. "Don't tell me you didn't know about this, Major."

The color returned to Hayworth's cheeks. "That Valkyrur-damned _idiot,_ " he snarled. "This doesn't even make any _sense._ You'd already signed the treaty of alliance, what more could we possibly want from you?"

"You mean you didn't know?"

" _Of course not!_ Ambassador Townsend brought his own guards with him for this mission, a squad's worth. They kept to themselves, mostly. I had no idea…that _imbecile!_ " Hayworth looked at Lannes. "I swear to you, I did not know of this."

Lannes felt his anger dissipate, and began to feel an odd sense of warmth towards the man.

"Well, I can't say as I've ever been where you stand, Major, but that doesn't change my orders." He paused for a moment, then decided to try and keep this from becoming a battle, even if it turned out Gunther couldn't rescue the princess. "Listen. There's two more squads coming up. They have the same orders I do."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm telling you this because I don't _want_ to kill you and your men. Which we will, if it comes to it. You can't have more than three or four teams in there, and I don't care _how_ good your men are, you're not going to be able to stand against three-to-one odds, especially not with sniper and tank support."

"You'd be surprised," Hayworth said flatly. "We've fortified the place fairly well."

Lannes shook his head. "We know where your snipers and lancers are, and those are the big threat. You might know where mine are, but we'll get the first shot in. And while I know Federation embassy guards have held out against longer odds than these," he looked at Hayworth levelly, "those were angry mobs backed by armed thugs pretending to be soldiers. Not Gallians looking to rescue their monarch."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if I receive orders to attack the embassy I'm going to give you a chance to surrender. You know the Federation's in the wrong, and I don't think you want your men to die because Townsend decided to do something unspeakably stupid."

Hayworth shook his head. "I think you'd find us rather a more difficult nut to crack than you think. Even so, you're right—you probably would be able to take the embassy. But I have my orders, lieutenant. In the event of attack, I am to defend this embassy until I can no longer do so. You will do your duty, Lieutenant, and I'll do mine."

"I understand," Lannes replied, "but please do understand that I will do as I said I would."

"Heinrich!" Lannes winced as Berthelmy yelled over the radio. "I've got the embassy in sight. Any suggestions?"

"Which way are you coming from, Louis?"

"Coming from the west. Stientje's a minute behind me."

"I'm in the square to the south of the embassy. My suggestion would be to set up to the north. Anyone else coming in?"

"We're not getting any reinforcements for another fifteen to thirty minutes at least. But do you really think we'll need any?" Berthelmy asked almost incredulously.

"More is usually better," Lannes replied. "And we've got more," he continued, looking Hayworth dead in the face.

"Right. I'll be ready to attack in five minutes."

Lannes smiled. "Don't rush it, but do it quickly."

"Trust me," Berthelmy rumbled. "Besides, the captain said they'd know one way or another in twenty minutes when I left her, and that was ten minutes ago."

"Right. Get to it. Hopefully we won't need to take this place."

"Agreed," Berthelmy replied, uncharacteristically solemn. "Talk to you later."

Hayworth coughed. "A good intimidation tactic, lieutenant, but you must have known it wouldn't work."

Lannes shrugged. "I thought it was worth a shot."

"Perhaps not the best way of saying that, under the circumstances."

"A fair point."

The two men stood there for another few moments, until Lannes' radio crackled again.

"Heinrich? This is Stientje. You have any ideas where to deploy?"

"Where are you coming in from?"

"We're coming in from the west."

"My advice would be to deploy where you are. I think the captain's going to be telling us what happened sooner rather than later."

"I agree. I hope Gunther finds the princess."

"So do I," Lannes replied, and turned off the radio, then looked at Hayworth.

"I think you should get back to your men, major."

"I should," he agreed. "I wish we had met under better circumstances, lieutenant."

"Myself as well," Lannes said as he stuck out his hand. "Maybe we still might, if we don't die in the next thirty minutes."

Hayworth's mouth quirked up in a sad little smile as he took Lannes' hand and shook it in farewell. "Maybe we might. It will be an honor, either way."

"Likewise."

As Hayworth turned on his heel to walk back to his men, Lannes' radio crackled, and he noticed the major pause as he listened.

"All Gallian units!" Varrot said urgently. "Do _not,_ I repeat, do _not_ attack the Federation embassy. Her royal highness has been found and retrieved unharmed, along with Ambassador Townsend. Stand down, but do _not_ withdraw until we deliver the Ambassador to the embassy. Varrot out!"

Lannes grinned. "Major!" he yelled. "Looks like we'll get that meeting after all!"

He was of the opinion that Hayworth's sigh of relief could have been heard all the way in Vasel, if anyone had been awake to do so.


	13. Interlude: 3rd Regiment R&R

_It's not that I think Welkin Gunther and Squad 7 didn't deserve some off time after the Feds tried to kidnap Princess Cordelia—ah, it feels so_ good _to finally be able to talk about that—but when you coupled them being the only ones to get that special invitation with the fact that sometimes it seemed like Gunther and Landzaat were the only ones who people were actually willing to talk about, it was more than a little frustrating. Lucky for us, the captain understood that…_

Interview with Lieutenant Josephine Falder, 1950

As Lannes stepped through the open door of Varrot's office, he noticed that all of the other lieutenants of the 3rd Militia still in the camp were there.

He wasn't surprised that Hofstra had been correct, but he had been hoping that the corporal had miscounted. He hated being the last one to arrive anywhere, especially at a regimental meeting, even when he had been at the far end of the camp from where it was. It seemed…unprofessional.

"Lieutenant Lannes," Varrot said with a nod, "I'm surprised you arrived so quickly, but I'm glad you did." She looked around at her officers. "Due to Squad 7 being placed on leave, I have been informed that, until their return, we will not be sent out on any missions."

Lannes felt an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. Relief, because it meant that they weren't going to go into battle without their best squad commander. Disappointment, because what he wanted to do was finish this war before someone else took it into their head to pull what the Feds had tried to do—and the 3rd was very good at killing Imps. As he looked around, he saw that the others seemed to be much the same.

"So," Varrot continued, "I've managed to arrange a three-day pass for everyone in the regiment."

That _was_ good news, but something told Heinrich that there would be a catch to it.

"Unfortunately," she said heavily, "it only applies to the area immediately surrounding the camp and Randgriz."

Of course it did. It made sense, of course—there was always the chance of something going wrong enough that they would be needed elsewhere—but it was still rather…frustrating.

Especially since, before he and Julia had parted that night, she'd told him that the 4th Field Kitchen was being sent up towards Fouzen the next day, and would be there for weeks.

On the other hand, he might be able to get some more of the technical reading he needed to do done. Yes, that was certainly a good idea.

"The leave briefing will be held in the dining hall in two hours. Make sure all members of your squads are there. Dismissed."

As the lieutenants left the room, Heinrich wondered for a moment if the other lieutenants were planning on doing the same thing as him. He doubted it, although Kanawa might be so inclined.

However, that notion was quickly put to rest the moment they stepped outside the headquarters building.

"So," Berthelmy boomed softly, something Heinrich had never quite figured out how he managed, "who wants to go out tonight?"

Kanawa was the first to agree. "I would. It will be good to do something not related to the war."

As the others agreed, Heinrich wondered whether it would be better to go along with them, or retire to his quarters for some reading once the briefing was over.

The former, he decided. He could always read tomorrow, and it was unlikely that they'd want to do this for the next three days. For one thing, Enjolras had no capacity to recover from hangovers, and Berthelmy had problems with stopping once he started. The difficulty was that both men tended to forget that they had those problems between drinking bouts.

"Well, I'm in," he announced, and then realized that one of the other lieutenants wasn't there. "Where'd Landzaat go?"

"Ah, you know him," Enjolras answered with a contemptuous edge. "Probably sticking his head in a book. He wouldn't want in on this."

"Still," Kanawa reproved, "we should at least ask him if he wishes to join us."

"Agreed," Wilders cut in, somewhat more vehemently than the situation warranted, and Heinrich wondered if something was going on there. Not that he could do much about it if something was going on, even if he particularly cared to.

"Well, we'll be able to do that after the briefing," Falder pointed out. "Right now, we need to go get our squads over here."

"Right, I need to go now. My squad was in the middle of a training exercise when Varrot's message reached me. Hopefully they'll be finished by the time I get there."

"Which one were you doing?" Berthelmy asked

"The Barious," Lannes replied with a wince.

"Ah. We did that ourselves, just two days ago. My condolences."

"Thanks. I'll see all of you at the meeting."

* * *

Getting over to the exercise area and getting his squad back to the dining hall was relatively easy—by the time he got there, they'd actually finished, as he'd told them to consider him having to leave the equivalent of him being taken out by a sniper round. They'd cleared the field rather nicely, when all was said and done, although with Traherne in charge instead of him it had taken a little longer than it could have. The old sergeant didn't dawdle, but he didn't really push either.

The briefing itself was boring as anything. Varrot did all the talking, and the monotone she quickly slipped into was evidence that she found the topic extremely boring. By the time she was two minutes in, Heinrich understood why. Anyone who could be trusted with a gun should have been able to figure out that getting blind drunk in a city was a bad idea, particularly if you were female, and that chances were that people who indicated a willingness to go to bed with you based on the uniform and five minutes of acquaintance were either professionals of a certain kind, riddled with certain kinds of diseases, or both.

However, as he'd looked closer at the enlisted men and women in the hall, he was vaguely horrified to note how many of the adults—the teenagers he understood, but the full-grown _adults_ —seemed to be surprised by this information. At least none of the veterans seemed surprised, which was something.

But how could anyone not be aware of this sort of thing? By the time of his first year at the university, he'd learned about all of this—second-hand, thankfully—so why hadn't these people?

He was still wondering about that when Varrot finally said "Now have fun, but not too much. Dismissed."

As the troops began to disperse, he made his way over to Landzaat, who seemed to be lost in thought.

"Hey, Faldio," he said, "got a minute?"

"Oh. Yes. I'm sorry. What is it?"

"The other lieutenants and I were going to go out tonight. We thought you might want to come along."

Landzaat looked at him for a moment, probably just to make sure he was serious, and shrugged. "Sure. Sounds like it could be fun. When?"

"As soon as we can get our money. We're meeting right outside the HQ."

"I'll be there."

"Great. See you then."

As Heinrich walked away, he wondered if Landzaat would actually show up.

* * *

As they walked—or, in Enjolras', Berthelmy's, Landzaat's, and Falder's cases, staggered, out of the tavern, Heinrich wondered if this had really been such a good idea.

Partially this was because his head felt a little fuzzy—he resolved not to have any beer at the next place—and he was worried about having to carry Berthelmy to the hotel room they'd picked out if he keeled over, but also because Landzaat was starting to worry him in a way he'd never been worried about any of the others.

Enjolras, he knew, was drinking to forget. He'd lost most of his family when an errant Imp mortar round hit their house, and his town watch had taken casualties as bad as Ghirlandaio's. He also got a bit angrier, but as long as someone was there to talk him down he was fine.

Berthelmy drank because he liked the taste of it, he liked being a bit looser, and he shifted from "vaguely pompous" to "hilariously blustery" when he'd had a few—which, for some reason, many women found somewhat endearing.

Falder—well, Falder just liked to party.

He, Kanawa, and Wilders liked their alcohol, but preferred it in moderation.

Landzaat, though—Landzaat was the kind that was the most dangerous, at least to themselves. He was a brooding drunk. But there something else there, too. He wasn't brooding about women, lost friends, or anything like that. He was brooding about Gallia and its future, and that was the sort of brooding that led to things like desertion—or worse.

And, for that matter, he hadn't even noticed Wilders' attempts to flirt with him. Now there was a man with a lot on his mind.

Heinrich sighed. It was time to ask questions, he thought as they moved towards the next tavern, while Landzaat was still coherent, but hopefully drunk enough to answer honestly. So he dropped back to where the other lieutenant was bringing up the rear.

"Faldio?"

"Yeah?"

"What's on your mind? You've spent the last three taverns staring into a beer mug, and not paying attention to much of anything at all—including Stientje's flirting."

Landzaat's mouth quirked up in something that might have been a smile. "I noticed. But I've got a lot on my mind."

"So I guessed. What's that important?"

Landzaat paused for a moment, and then the words began to tumble out, though quietly. "It's the war. The Empire invaded us, and then the Federation tried to kidnap Princess Cordelia. We're caught between two titans, and we need…something."

"Like what?"

"Just…something. Something that we could use to tell the Imps and the Feds to back off. And I think I know what that might be."

"What?" Heinrich Lannes asked.

"I can't say. Not now. It's still uncertain. But…"

"But…?"

"It will come from the past, Heinrich," he said quietly. "But it will secure Gallia's future."

"Hey, now, you're not going to go AWOL on some kind of archaeological expedition, are you? Maybe go back to those ruins we spent over a month guarding in the Barious Desert?"

"What? No! No, nothing like that. Everything's going to be by the book." He looked over at Heinrich and smiled slightly. "But we will come out of this war stronger than before. Trust me."

For some reason, he wasn't especially reassured by Landzaat's reassurance, but he nodded anyway. "Well, that's good. But for now, we've drinking to do."

"Yes, I suppose we do. And perhaps I should actually respond to Stientje."

"Now you're talking," Heinrich replied, and, as Landzaat went forward to go talk to Wilders, wondered why he'd done that. Why was he actively trying to get two of his fellow lieutenants to go to bed with each other?

Well, that wasn't exactly what he was doing, but it was pretty close to that.

He thought about it as they went into their next tavern and ordered a round. It was, all things considered, a bad idea for people in the same unit to develop relationships. The militia didn't have any rules about that, beyond no relationships when one could give orders to the other, but he'd heard all of the stories from the instructors at the university about what happened when officers let personal considerations override tactical ones.

They usually involved the words "high casualties" and "defeat."

As he reached out for his mug of soda, he wondered for a moment if the fact that Landzaat's squad was now the reserve squad had anything to do with it. After all, it would be difficult for him to do something stupid, since Varrot would be keeping his squad close to her, while Wilders wouldn't have the chance, since Landzaat was in reserve.

Then he looked over at where Landzaat and Wilders had sat down, and saw him look over at her and smile at whatever she'd just said to him, and he thought that maybe getting Landzaat out of his brooding mood would be worth the complications of an intra-regimental relationship.

Well, there was also the possibility that his decision-making faculties had been impaired more than he thought. He definitely needed to not drink anymore tonight.

Then Falder keeled over.

Definitely not.


	14. Interlude: Promotions

_The Gallian military had a significant number of problems during the Second Europan War…Leadership was by far the worst issue. While it was good at and below the brigade level, leadership among the general officers tended to be far more variable, largely due to the influence of Chancellor Borg, who saw capable generals as threats to his power. While the field-grade officers were usually able to mitigate the worst of the damage, it was impossible to completely keep it from influencing day-to-day operations._

Excerpted with permission from _A History of the Second Europan War_ , William Hackett; University of Chimay; 1968

Heinrich Lannes was not a happy man. They were just about to get a new draft of militiamen, and he'd had to decide how he wanted to parcel them out within the squad.

He'd had two options. The first was to keep the present three-team structure, and put the new drafts in with them. There were some interesting possibilities with that, but the fact was that each team would have thirteen or fourteen members, depending on how he split the engineers and lancers—snipers, as far as he was concerned, needed to be either let to do as they would or concentrated, not tied down to a team—under that arrangement, and that was far too unwieldy.

The second was to shift to a four-team arrangement. This, frankly, made the most sense. It meant having slightly uneven numbers of scouts and shocktroopers between teams, but that was going to happen in the other arrangement anyhow. However, it also meant that someone was going to need to command the team, which meant that someone needed to be promoted.

The question at that point was simple.

Who?

He knew who his preference was—Friedrich. There were some theorists who thought each specialty should have a representative in the squad leadership, but that didn't make much sense to him, at least not in this case. None of the snipers were leadership material—they were good snipers, and good people, but being a good sniper and being a good noncom required two entirely different mentalities. The engineers had a lot of the same problems, which was why doctrine required that they not be team leaders unless it was a team composed entirely of engineers.

So, the new team leader had to be a scout, shocktrooper, or lancer, the squad already had two shocktroopers in command, and scouts came before lancers in the rotation. And Friedrich was the best out of all the scouts, something he'd heard from Traherne that even Derfflinger acknowledged.

So far so good. The problem was this idiot new rule that had been announced three days after the Princess' kidnapping—rumor was that General Damon and Chancellor Borg had collaborated on it. Lannes wasn't sure why Damon was still in command of the army, but he was, which meant that he got to let his aristocratic snootiness and general asininity run free. As a result, promoting a Darcsen to corporal or higher—Heinrich Lannes cursed the fact that they were readily identifiable by the lack of a last name—required the approval of three levels of the chain of command.

Which meant paperwork, and lots of it. He hated his life, sometimes.

Then again, it wasn't the paperwork that was the problem.

Mostly.

If that was the case, he really was in trouble when the war was over, although the fact that he thought it onerous at all was somewhat worrisome.

No, the problem was that the whole thing was pointless. No one was going to be promoting undeserving dark-hairs—even Gunther, who was known to discuss their virtues and the wrongs done them at the drop of the hat and at tedious length. No, this was pure prejudice, directed both at Darcsens and junior officers, and that angered him to no end. Although he wasn't sure, truth be told, which prejudice angered him more. Either way, he was more than ready to kidnap Damon and Borg and stick them on patrol with Friedrich. If they came back, maybe they'd learn something. If they didn't—well, he could think of a lot of things that would be worse for Gallia, like the Captain developing hemorrhoids. That _would_ impair the war effort.

But this remained in the realm of fantasy, and the reality was that he was having to deal with this asinine paperwork.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," he said, somewhat crossly.

"Paperwork trouble, sir?" Traherne said as he stepped in.

"Just this stupid rule about promoting Darcsens," Lannes replied. It was probably unprofessional to express such negative views about the decisions of the higher-ups around one of his subordinates, but he had a pretty good idea about the sergeant's views on the topic and his general trustworthiness.

Traherne winced, but shrugged. "It could be worse, sir. Back in the last war we didn't get to promote Darcsens until the last six months. Lost a lot of good men because of that."

Lannes looked at Traherne for a moment. "Was there trouble, when it finally happened?"

The grizzled sergeant shook his head. "No sir, not in my unit, anyway. We were mostly from the south of the country, and a few from along the Imperial border."

That made sense. Anti-Darcsen sentiment was much more rampant in the northern industrial cities, mostly, or so his professors at the university had claimed, because they tended to make up a disproportionate amount of skilled mechanics, engineers, and factory workers. That this was the result of Gallian failure rather than Darcsen perfidy was lost on those who missed out on promotions, overtime, and pay raises, and when combined with the fact that many of the new factory workers were farm laborers displaced by mechanization who needed someone to blame for their problems and the antipathy displayed by the aristocrats towards the changes that Darcsens represented—well, it was a recipe for disaster.

Areas that tended to have shortages of skilled mechanics or were near the border tended to not be as opposed—the former because they could not afford to be so, and the latter out of reaction to the even more virulent persecution of Darcsens over the border. Ghirlandaio town had been an exception, largely due to General Damon's tendency to attract like-minded officers to himself, who communicated that attitude to their subordinates and troops, who in turn communicated it to some of the town's...rougher elements.

Mostly, however, anti-Darcsen prejudices outside of the cities were more out of tradition than anything else, particularly outside the aristocracy, and not one that was particularly well kept-up at that. The few republicans Lannes knew had as part of their reform proposals the elimination of all laws against them, which was one of the few parts of their program that he approved of.

It did seem more than a little petty to deny people a last name, after all.

"Even in some of the units that were mostly from the industrial cities it wasn't too bad," Traherne continued. "If the Darcsens assigned to them had managed to stick around."

He paused, and his face clouded.

"There were…issues, sometimes."

Lannes did not inquire further. When a man like Traherne looked like that and became evasive, there was a _very_ short list of things that could have happened.

Most of them were extremely unpleasant to even think about.

"Anyway, sir," the sergeant continued, "take my word for it, things are a _lot_ better now than they were then."

Lannes grunted. "Well, that makes me feel a little better, I suppose."

"Just don't take too long, sir. We've got a field exercise this afternoon."

"Right. Meeting Engagement?"

"Think so, sir."

"That should be…interesting." _And it should give me one last chance to make_ sure _that I'm making the right call._

* * *

As Squad 2 stood to attention outside its barracks, Lannes took another moment to grouse at the approval-in-triplicate that had been required. His approval, of course, had been automatic. Captain Varrot had approved it on the same day that she got the form, and had been kind enough to inform him that while in the base camp they were under the command of General Andre Stad. Waiting on that particular approval had been more than slightly nerve-wracking, as it had taken three days from the time he'd hand-delivered the thing to the general's office, but it had finally come in, as had some other promotions he'd been looking forward to.

However, he shook that off as he looked at the squad. They were arrayed by teams, each with their team leader in front of them, while the snipers stood off on their own, as was appropriate. Everyone was there, even the new drafts, who looked like they were well into settling in, even though they'd only been here less than three days.

That was the actual reason he'd been worried—he didn't want everyone to fully adjust to the drafts before he shook the teams up again, for hopefully the last time. Better to get everything over with quickly.

But, enough woolgathering.

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. "The following soldiers have been promoted from the rank of private to that of private first class: Harrison Bullfinch, Fritz Cranmer," and so on, until he had read the name of everyone in the squad who wasn't one of the new drafts. The Darcsens were last on the list, but everyone noticed that one person was conspicuously absent once the noncoms had handed over the new chevrons, and as a result looked somewhat confused.

"Friedrich," Lannes said, "step forward."

This, he could tell, confused everyone, including Friedrich.

"With all the new people," he began, "we needed to do a little reorganizing. Part of that was setting up a new team—as you may have noticed, even Sergeant Traherne finds it difficult to keep track of thirteen people at once."

There were a few smiles cracked, but no laughter, as he'd expected, and thus he continued.

"Now, in order to do that, we needed a new noncommissioned officer—and in this case, I was glad we did. Private Friedrich," Lannes said he pulled out a set of chevrons, "congratulations. You're Corporal Friedrich now."

The man looked stunned for a moment, then saluted, and Lannes returned it as he handed the signs of his new rank over to him.

"Wear them well, Corporal," he said, then stepped back. "All right, training's completed for the day. All team leaders meet me in my office in half-an-hour. We need to set the new team rosters up."

He grinned wolfishly. "I want this squad in fighting shape within a week and a half. There's rumors that we're going to be going after Fouzen—and once that city's ours, we can retake the rest of Gallia. I will see you ladies and gentlemen tomorrow morning. Dismissed!"

The squad saluted, and he returned it, and then walked away. He heard Traherne barking orders behind him, and smiled.

The only thing he was worried about was the enemy. The squad would be fine.


	15. The Flames of Fouzen

_Due to the fact that the Second Europan War ended in a stalemate, much like the First, nearly all of the crimes against humanity committed were either punished by the perpetrators' respective countries or were not punished at all. However, there were several instances when soldiers in the field chose a more direct approach._

"Direct Reprisal and the Laws of War," Hugh DeGroot, _Journal of International Law,_ Spring 1978

Heinrich Lannes was a happy man. The squad was organized how he wanted it, he'd heard there were new weapons coming in, and Julia had sent him a letter. Also, lunch had been excellent.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," he said, hoping that the man coming in wasn't going to ruin his mood. He probably was, though.

The door opened, and a Darcsen wearing a tanker's uniform stepped in, came to attention, and saluted. "Corporal Gregory, sir. I was told to report to you."

Lannes returned the salute. "At ease, Corporal. Are you replacing Sergeant Crichton?"

Gregory shook his head. "No sir. _Briar_ and I are under his command."

"We'll see how that works, Corporal," Lannes replied, his mind already working through the possibilities this opened for squad deployment and very happy about the fact that his fears had not been realized. "Where's your tank?"

"Right outside."

"Excellent." Lannes got up from his desk. "Come on, Corporal. We need to get you integrated into the squad as quick as we can. You've had lunch, right?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Come with me. You're going to take your tank by the engineers to have them work over it a little, and then you're coming out to the training grounds. If you're anywhere close to as good as Crichton is, you should slot in quickly, but we're supposed to be getting new weapons in soon, and throwing too many new things at soldiers at once is just asking for trouble."

"Yes sir. I'll do my best."

"Just hold up your end, and we'll take care of the rest."

* * *

As it turned out, Gregory did hold up his end of things. He wasn't quite as good as Crichton, but that was only to be anticipated, given that he was considerably less experienced. Meanwhile, the extra tank fit very well into the four-team arrangement he'd put the squad in once he'd gotten Friedrich promoted, and by the end of the next day the squad was functioning smoothly. Not smooth as silk, but well enough that he wasn't concerned about taking them into combat, or how easy it would be to incorporate the new weapons when they finally arrived.

Which they did, two days after Gregory's arrival, in a shipment large enough to outfit all the squads of the 3rd. The logistics boys had needed a dozen trucks to drop off everything at the main armory, and he'd had to sign for the dozen-and-a-half crates assigned to his squad before they could get them out to the training area and start practicing with it.

Which was why he was standing next to Rogers and Traherne as the former levered open a crate with a crowbar while the rest of the squad looked on.

Once the top came off, he brushed aside the straw and grinned broadly as Traherne pulled the object out and held it in his hands with a truly disturbing smile on his face.

"What is that, Sergeant?" Friedrich asked, coming forward with a curious look on his face, in the lead of the other scouts.

"This, Corporal," Traherne said with a flourish, "is the Randgriz rifle grenade launcher. I've been wondering when we were finally going to get these things."

"How does it work?"

Traherne grinned like a wolf and unslung his rifle. "Clips onto your rifle like this," he said, matching words to actions as he clamped the launcher under the barrel, "then you put a grenade on it, like so," he continued as he fitted a grenade on, "and then," he lifted the rifle up and pointed it downrange and away from everyone else, "you launch a grenade three times further than you can throw it," he finished as he pulled the trigger.

There was a very satisfying explosion, right about the distance Traherne said it would be.

"Do we get these too, sir?" van Reenan asked, and the other engineers nodded eagerly.

Lannes wasn't surprised, especially given that engineers carried more grendades than scouts did, and looked at the invoice. "Doesn't look like it. Only enough for the scouts."

Traherne chuckled. "Don't worry about that."

"Did you say something, Sergeant?" the lieutenant asked, suspecting that he knew what would happen but wanting to be able to turn a blind eye to it.

"No sir. Must have been the wind."

"Right. Corporal, let's get these open next," Lannes said, gesturing to the next row of crates.

Rogers levered the next crate open, and Lannes brushed aside the straw and stood there for a moment looking at the contents.

"Sir," Traherne said, "could you not grin quite so maniacally? You'll scare the troops."

Lannes took a moment to get his face under control, pulled the device out of the crate, and turned to the squad, holding it up so they could all see it. "This is the flamethrower. Clips under your MAG—thing's too heavy for a rifle. Get in close, click this trigger here, and the Imps will burn. Works great on emplacements of any kind."

Yancey smiled unpleasantly. "That'll mess those Imps up."

"It will," Lannes promised. "Let's get these last crates open."

He knew good and well what was supposed to be in them, but keeping the squad's attention was important. Besides, they might have made an error at the warehouse.

But when Rogers cracked the crate and saw what was inside, he whooped, and Lannes knew that his tactical flexibility had just massively improved.

"Mortar lances, sir!"

Yes, it was going to be a very busy but fruitful few training sessions before they went out again. He wondered where they would be sent.

* * *

Lannes stood on top of a ridge looking through his old binoculars at the lights of Fouzen and its labor camps, and cursed the Empire, Prince Maximilian, and General Gregor in particular.

If it weren't for that train, they could have liberated the camps in a straight fight—in fact, that's what they'd have already done by now. However, the train could shrug off anything they could throw at it, the mortar cannon could immobilize and then kill a tank, and the gatlings could chew up infantry.

Fortunately, in an effort to prevent sabotage, the Imps had stuck the thing on top of a bridge spanning the gorge. This meant that if the troops guarding the bridge supports could be distracted, someone could stick a bomb by one of them and destroy it, bringing down the bridge and the train, at which point he thought they should just move in and take the place.

Captain Varrot, however figured that the Imps would pull out once the train fell, and had set up the regiment to hit them as they tried to withdraw, although they had orders to leave the roads open—they wanted the Imps to believe they could get out of Fouzen so that they would try that instead of forcing the Gallians to battle through the city. He, Kanawa, and Berthelmy were set up along or near the southeast road out of the city, which ran through the beginning of the deep gorge that the city was built in. Landzaat and Wilders were deployed on the west road, while Falder and Enjolras were deployed to the north. This ran the risk of letting the Imps escape with little damage if they focused their main breakout attempts in those directions, but since Imperial forces to the west were moving into a retreat and those to the north were grimly holding on in an attempt to give those men time to retreat, she thought they would pull back east, as Damon had decided that cutting off the Imperial troops in that corner of Gallia was beyond their capabilities and so was not pressing the assault there.

Just holding the road wasn't their only assignment, though. If something went wrong, they were supposed to fight their way in and get Gunther out of there, along with as many Darcsens as possible. If they couldn't take the city, they could at least deny the Imps their labor force. That was the reason why Varrot had put three squads on the southeast road instead of two with support from the heavy weapons section—that was where the Imps had set up their labor camps, and because the terrain in the area allowed for a closer approach.

Unfortunately, even though they were two klicks away, as the wind was blowing towards the Gallians _everyone_ could smell the unwashed humanity. There had to be at least ten thousand people in there, maybe more, and he wondered how the guards could stand it—probably used to it by now, which was a truly damning indictment if there ever was one.

He took the binoculars from his eyes and took a moment to look over the Gallian positions. The plan was relatively simple. The scouts, snipers, and lancers would engage in harassing fire, and the Imps would move troops to try and deal with them. These would then run into the shocktroopers and mortar lancers concealed down by the road.

Then, while the Imps were still reeling from that, Kanawa's squad across the way and slightly behind would open fire, allowing time for Lannes and his troops to get out before the Imps could bring all of their firepower to bear. Once they focused on Kanawa, Berthelmy would repeat the process while Lannes' men covered his flank. Hopefully, the Imps would be panicked enough that their main focus would be getting out as quickly as possible rather than as safely as possible.

The role of the tanks was going to be an interesting one in this plan, and he wasn't sure how enthused he was about it. Their job was to stay on the road and keep falling back, keeping the Imps focused on them. Frankly, it seemed like this plan had far too many moving parts, and…

"Sir."

Lannes started as the familiar voice broke his train of thought and turned to see Friedrich standing a few feet away. "Corporal," he said in reply, "how are you this evening?"

"Not good, sir," he said softly, and Heinrich Lannes kicked himself mentally. "Everything is ready, though." He stood there for a moment, gazing at the lights.

"Do you need something, Corporal Friedrich?" Lannes asked quietly.

"A last name, sir," he said, with a bitter laugh. "But you cannot fix that problem. No, it's just that—" he paused.

"You want no Imps to get out."

"Yes sir."

"No promises. But we'll do what we can."

"Thank you sir."

"Not a problem, Corporal. Not a problem at all."

* * *

Lannes sat behind a rock _,_ vaguely bleary-eyed, as he ate his breakfast and looked over his squad's positions one more time. Dawn had come half-an-hour before, and he was wondering when Squad 7 would finally kick things off.

He also hoped they were in a position to kick things off. They probably were, but all it would take would be one lucky Imp lancer slipping behind the _Edelweiss_ to cut them off from all communications.

He heard the faint sound of a mortar cannon firing, quickly swallowed the last of his breakfast and packed his kit, then got up to see what was happening. Most of the troops on the ridge were looking as best they could, and he wondered whether to order them back into concealment.

He decided against it. Yes, they would probably be seen, but the Imps were certain to suspect that there were at least scouts in the area. The main thing would just be keeping the tanks hidden, but that wouldn't be hard, since there was a little alcove in the wall for them to nestle in while they waited. And fortunately, from his position, he was within range to rebroadcast and communicate with the squad.

He took out his binoculars and looked carefully. That armored train was putting out a _lot_ of firepower for its size, and he was glad he wasn't having to deal with that. Then he saw it start to move, and held his breath. Was the thing going to get away? No, it only moved a hundred yards or so, then stopped, then moved back to its previous position. He hoped they'd planned for that.

The firing went on for a long time, and he saw something that looked like the _Edelweiss_ rumble across his field of vision, although he couldn't be sure. Then he saw the bridge collapse and take the train with it, and he smiled. He lowered the binoculars and turned to Traherne to tell him to get the squad ready for their part of the plan, but stopped when he saw that the old soldier had gone white behind the binoculars he was using to look at the labor camp.

"Is something wrong, Sergeant?"

"Sir," he said with an inflection flat enough that Lannes knew he was keeping himself under tight control, "you might want to look at the labor camp."

So he did. There didn't seem to be anything particularly odd—the Imps were just herding their prisoners into the barracks so they wouldn't get in the way during the retreat. That would definitely make his job easier than it might have been. Then he noticed that they were dragging ragnite fuel barrels up to the buildings, and hissed.

"They're going to burn down the barracks with their prisoners inside them," he snarled, and he heard the sounds of consternation among his own squad as they noticed what was happening. He spared a moment to see if the Imps were starting to come down the road, and he closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath as he thought furiously. If they moved down from the ridge, the whole plan would be thrown the window, and there was every chance the Imps would fight like cornered rats in a trap. On the other hand, it looked like they were trying to pull everyone out as quickly as possible, and those men burning the camps were the rear guard. If they struck hard and kept going, they could probably take the Imps apart bit by bit.

And besides, he'd never be able to look Julia—or himself—in the face again if he let thousands of civilians burn to death without even trying to save them.

"Sergeant," he ordered, "get the scouts and snipers downslope, I want everyone in their teams, in line formation."

"Yes _sir,_ " Traherne replied, and Lannes turned on his transmitter.

"Captain," he said flatly, "the Imps are preparing to burn their prisoners alive. Request permission to scrap the plan and move to the attack, over."

"Lieutenant, I'm _ordering_ you to attack. You have point. Squads 4 and 5 will be right behind you."

"Understood, ma'am," Lannes replied, and made his way downslope as fast as he could as he switched to the tanks' channel. "Sergeant, Corporal, get moving, we're attacking. The Imps've decided they like committing mass murder."

"Understood, sir," Crichton replied, Gregory quickly following suit. They were both quick off the mark—by the time he scrambled on top of _Thistle,_ they were already moving towards the front of the canyon.

The squad was quick, too—they were deployed across the road, everyone where they needed to be, and Lannes smiled like a wolf as he shifted to the squad frequency.

"Change of plans," he said roughly. "You know by now that Imps've decided to add murdering civilian prisoners to their list of crimes." He looked around. Even Derfflinger and Delmon looked a little sick. Almost everyone else looked mad enough to…Lannes really didn't want to think about that. "I don't intend to let them do it, and I don't intend to let them get away with it. So we're going to attack. We're going to run over every last one of these glorified turnkeys. And we're going to see to it that their plan fails. Oh, and one more thing," he added, looking carefully at Traherne. If anyone could or would stop him from doing something beyond the pale, it was him.

"If a man's willing to burn civilians for a cause, he's probably a fanatic. Fanatics don't tend to surrender a lot. So I don't think anyone's going to ask a lot of questions if we take fewer prisoners than usual—but I expect to have a few." Traherne nodded, looking almost relieved. "Let's do this."

Fighting their way to the camp was remarkably easy. They ran into the first group of fleeing Imps within two minutes of his little speech, and wiped them out with nary a scratch, with help from some well-placed rifle grenades. This pattern continued as they went up the road, although the constant stop-and-start was a pain in the neck, and Kanawa's squad managed to catch up with them by the time they made it halfway.

That was good, because one of the Imp officers—Lannes supposed he'd been pulled from the front due to injury, since when they found his corpse he was missing his left arm—managed to get a somewhat larger group together by halting his bunch and then informing everyone coming up behind that they weren't going any further until they had enough troops to try and punch a hole through. But they had no tanks—Squad 7 had taken out all of those—and most of the soldiers weren't frontline material, despite their fancy uniforms and some of their shocktroopers wielding flamethrowers.

It took two minutes to push through them, and Lannes and Kanawa's men took some hits, but they were pressed for time and Fina was on her way, right in front of Berthelmy. They could already see columns of smoke over the camp, and apparently the men assigned to that job really _were_ fanatics, because they started putting bullets into the ragnite tanks even when they realized that they _weren't_ getting out of Fouzen.

Half the barracks were on fire when they got to the gates of the camp. As _Thistle_ and _Briar_ took out the gates and Kanawa's two tanks, _Chrysanthemum_ and _Clover_ , took out the guard towers, Lannes started yelling orders. "Traherne, Friedrich, Yancey, get the scouts and shocktroopers in there as soon as the gates fall. Snipers, find positions and take out any Imp you see, priority being any trying to fire up a ragnite tank. Rogers, take the engineers and lancers and _get these people out of those barracks._ "

The gate went down.

"Follow me," he yelled, jumped off of _Thistle,_ and charged into the antechamber of Hel. The smoke that had been slowly increasing in thickness for the past five minutes hit in full force, he could see the mixture of blue and orange flames as the ragnite caught the wood on fire, he could hear screams from inside the barracks, and he could shoot the two scouts staggering to their feet right in front of him.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

"Sir!" he heard someone call from behind him, and turned to see Kanawa's platoon sergeant, a shocktrooper named August Karst, behind him. "Lieutenant Kanawa's compliments, sir. We've got some Imps trying to come back on us. He's leading the tanks, but he sent us in here to assist."

"Right. Take the left. Squad 2, take the right side, let's _go!_ " he yelled, and charged ahead, even as he heard Rogers bark out, "Engineers stay here, lancers forward with me! We're going to need to get those burning barracks open _now!_ "

There was no time for command and control. They plunged into the fire.

The next half-hour went by in fragments and bits and pieces. He remembered shooting Imp soldiers down as they tried to run or blow up barracks, although he didn't shoot any who tried to surrender—at least not that he could recall.

He remembered choking on the mix of ragnite and wood smoke as he desperately tried to push further forward as people screamed in agony but the heat kept pushing him back and he knew they were doomed to burn but he couldn't just let them roast but he couldn't get to them either and WHY?

He remembered shooting the lock out of the door of a barracks that hadn't been almost completely engulfed in flames as Bullfinch used his lance to blow a hole in the wall of one that had been, almost certainly killing some of the Darcsens inside but allowing a few of them to escape.

He remembered ordering that the next two rows of barracks from the last one to be set alight be blown down to create a firebreak once their occupants were evacuated.

He remembered Friedrich and Todt tackling a man who looked like he was about run into the flames as he yelled something about his children.

The first time his memories became coherent, though, was when he was sitting on the steps of one of the unburnt barracks while Fina was telling him to open his mouth so she could get a Ragnaid solution down his throat to deal with the damage from smoke inhalation and then attend to the former prisoners, most of whom were malnourished and already in bad shape, even without the injuries they'd taken.

He nodded, tilted his head back, swallowed, and looked back again to see Captain Varrot.

"Captain," he rasped as he started to get to his feet and Fina moved away, but she motioned for him to sit down.

"You've done enough today, Lieutenant," she replied. "You and Kanawa did good work. If you two hadn't pushed the attack, we'd have lost a lot more."

"How many, Captain?"

"Fewer than we would have if you hadn't acted."

" _How many?_ "

"Five hundred to a thousand, we're not sure. There also don't seem to have been a lot of Imperial prisoners taken, particularly inside the camp. In fact, I don't think there was a single one taken within the camp's walls. Would you know anything about that, Lieutenant?" she asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"Fanatics don't surrender easy, ma'am," Lannes said, looking her square in the eye. "Probably set their most dedicated guards to this part of the job. Told the troops not to worry too much."

Varrot nodded. "Lieutenant Kanawa said much the same thing. But I don't want this to happen again."

"It shouldn't, ma'am. This was a unique set of circumstances."

"I hope so, Lieutenant. Good work today."

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied, and saluted.

She responded, gave him a nod, and walked quickly off. Lannes caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Traherne standing there.

"Have a seat, Sergeant," he said, with less rasp than had been there a minute before, and scooted over. "How's the squad?"

"We took some casualties, sir. Tromp and Derfflinger are both down, but Fina got to them quickly. They'll be back in a day or so. As to the rest—" the old soldier shrugged. "They didn't go mad, sir. That's the important thing."

Lannes sighed, then looked over at the burned barracks. It looked like most of the squad was over there—well, the ones who weren't laid out on the ground or helping the lame and the sick to the waiting ambulances under Fina's supervision. Ragnaid could only do so much for long-term malnutrition and illness, and he winced as he saw a boy and girl dressed in rags stagger by, each looking like their skin was slightly too small for their skeleton.

"Squad helping pick up the mess?" he asked.

"Yes sir. Whole regiment is, actually."

"Well, best…"

"No sir. Fina told me to tell you that everyone who needed that Ragnaid solution was not to go poking around over there until she gives them the all-clear. That includes you, sir. She said she'd check in an hour."

Lannes sighed, but nodded. That was the thing about the military—when it came to health issues, a medic technically could pull rank on General Damon himself. He rather wished one would, although that was about as likely as him getting to shoot Maximilian personally.

He wanted to, though. Now more than ever. But right now…right now, he needed to think things over.

"Are you part of that group, Sergeant?"

"No sir. Throat's already half scar tissue from the last war."

"Go help the others, then. I'll be along when the doctor says so."

Traherne looked a little concerned, but nodded, saluted, and walked off once Lannes returned it.

That done, he sat there, rolling every call he'd made over the past hour over and over in his mind. Should he have ordered Rogers to push his troops forward faster? How much time had that dithering on top of the ridge cost, and how many people had died because of it? Could they have deployed further forward that morning? What…

"Sir?" a small voice asked, and Lannes lifted his head to see a group of children who'd managed to break free from their adult minders in front of him as the latter rushed over to them.

"What is it?" he rasped, and cursed mentally. Fina wasn't going to let him help over there anytime soon. Maybe he should just do it…

"The men who did this," the same child—Lannes could tell it was a boy, now—asked, "what happened to them? Will they come back?"

Lannes thought of a lot of answers to that question. He decided to go with the honest one.

"They won't be back. They're dead."

"Did you kill them?"

"No," he replied, and swept his arm around the barracks. "All of us in the blue did."

The boy looked him dead in the face. "Why?"

"It needed doing," Lannes said flatly. He wasn't about to explain everything that had gone on in his head for the past several hours.

"Well, thank you sir," the boy responded, and the others nodded. "We probably wouldn't be alive if you hadn't come," he added as their caretakers ran up and started herding them away.

"I hope they haven't bothered you, Lieutenant," a harried-looking grey-haired woman apologized over her shoulder.

"Not at all, ma'am," Lannes lied as he looked at the reminders of the fact that not everyone they'd been told to rescue had made it out alive. "Not at all."

 **A/N: Well, that was...interesting.**

 **If you're somewhat uncomfortable with what Lannes tells his troops about how many prisoners he expects them to take, that's a good thing. I should note that this is based on actual history-SS guards found in close proximity to concentration camps as the Allies liberated Germany had a survival rate rather lower than average. However, it is rather blatant vigilantism, and one could make the case that Lannes was at the very least dancing on the line.**

 **I'm not really sure, honestly.**

 **Also, this is the midpoint of the story, and I would like to thank those of you who've read this thing all the way through and express my hopes that you'll enjoy the second half even more than you did the first one.**

 **See y'all next week.**


	16. Marberry Breakout

_After Fouzen the Imperial Army in Gallia found itself constantly on the back foot. The Gallian militia were fast learners, and adapted quicker to the realities of the new kind of warfare than their regular counterparts. Furthermore, Imperial losses were beginning to tell, and tanks in particular were not being replaced as quickly as they were being put out of action. To make matters worse, the Imperial General Staff, not having endorsed this venture in the first place, put the Gallian front at the bottom of the priority list._

 _The results were easily anticipatable._

Excerpted with permission from _A History of the Second Europan War_ , William Hackett; University of Chimay; 1968

Heinrich was attempting to write a letter.

And failing miserably.

The 3rd had made the papers again after Fouzen, and, unsurprisingly, Gunther and the 7's had gotten most of the attention. However, he and Kanawa and their squads had gotten most of the rest. Apparently saving people from being burned to death was a big deal, even if they were Darcsens.

That had meant another letter from Julia.

A _concerned_ letter.

It wasn't anything she'd out-and-out written, but it was there.

And he really wasn't sure what to write in response.

For one thing, he was reliving that day every other night, except it was people from home, the university, and Ghirlandaio town who were trapped in the burning buildings. Sometimes he saved them, sometimes he didn't.

Julia always died.

Then there was the constant wondering about whether or not he'd committed a war crime.

How did you explain all that to your girlfriend in a letter?

The answer was that you didn't, and instead tried to talk about almost anything else. Unfortunately, nothing else would come to his mind but what had happened that day in Fouzen.

So he was relieved when he heard a knock on the door.

"Come in!"

Hofstra opened the door and poked his head in. "Lieutenants' meeting in the office in five minutes, sir. We've got our next assignment."

"Thank you Corporal," Lannes replied, and as the man closed the door and wheeled down the hall to Wilders' office he took a quick look at the roll call and medical and mechanical reports from this morning. It looked like everyone was in fighting shape, and he quickly mentally ran over yesterday's training. There were still some spots that could use improvement, but it honestly looked like that if there was a weak link in Squad 2—it was their commander.

And he wasn't going to quit.

He had Imps to kill.

* * *

"So our job is to take a position that the regulars have tried and failed to take multiple times," Lannes said flatly as he and the other lieutenants stood around the map table Varrot had laid out. "Furthermore, our orders are specifically to punch straight up the gut of this position," he tapped his fingers, "where there're two bunkers with multiple heavy gatlings that'll turn any infantry assault into a bloodbath. We might be able to get tanks through, but the intel says the area's covered in bunkers, lancers, and those heavy tanks." He looked levelly at the captain. "Do we have a plan?"

"Yes, we do. Lieutenant Gunther says that his tank's driver and field mechanic's working on a smoke shell that should cover the approach to the bunkers."

The lieutenants all looked at each other. Isara Gunther had developed a reputation as a technical genius to match her father, and he'd been the man who gave Belgen Gunther the tools he needed to save Gallia during the last war. But…

"How's a tank shell supposed to create enough smoke to keep those bunkers from seeing us?" Enjolras asked.

Gunther rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. But Isara says she can do it, and I trust her."

"That's good enough for me," Landzaat said flatly.

"Should we try a night attack, if that doesn't work out?" Wilders asked.

Varrot shook her head. "The regulars tried that. The Imps caught them with hidden searchlights set up behind the cliffs. No one in the forward squad got out, and the Imps wouldn't allow a cease-fire to recover the wounded."

Lannes growled at that, as did everyone else in the room. Yes, the regular officers were often snobbish and obnoxious, and the enlisted men could be trouble as well.

But there were rules, curse it, and those men were still _Gallians_.

He really hoped his squad wouldn't be assigned to clear the bunkers.

The captain cleared her throat and directed the room's attention to the map. "Right, here's the plan. Squad 7 will move past the bunkers, swing around this dogleg, and take the Imp forward base. Squad 8," she pointed at Enjolras, "will push up immediately behind Squad 7 and take out the bunkers. Your troops seem the most adept with the flamethrowers and mortar lances. You'll need them."

She turned her head to look at Lannes. "Squad 2 will follow behind Squad 8 and push to _here_ ," she said, pointing to a four way intersection. "There's a communications road on the inland side of the Imp position, and we need to see to it that it's blocked. If we can take and hold that intersection, we can unhinge the entire Imperial line in this sector, and the Imps know that."

"Will I have access to mortar support, ma'am?"

"You'll have second priority after Lieutenant Gunther. We need that base destroyed quickly."

"Understood, ma'am," Lannes replied reluctantly.

Varrot nodded. "It's not the priority I want to give it, either," she said bluntly, "but we have our orders. General Damon has taken personal charge of this operation."

Lannes bit back words that would have seen him hauled before a court-martial. The sheer imbecility of this plan suddenly made sense. He looked into Varrot's eyes, saw the same hatred mixed with contempt there that he felt, and nodded back.

"Get your squads together," Varrot ordered. "We move out in two hours."

* * *

Lannes stood on top of _Thistle_ and did his best not to look nervous. Before his squad even got into the fight there were multiple possibilities for something to go wrong that would tear the entire plan apart—and then once they _did_ finally get to battle, then _they_ became the people the entire operation depended on to keep going.

It was…stressful, and he was glad that he'd managed to finish that letter last night. Imminent battle apparently had a way of breaking through writers' block, even if it did mean telling Julia more than he'd really wanted to.

No time for that, though, and as he went through everything he knew they'd done all they could. Crichton and Gregory had checked out the route they'd be taking on the beach to make sure they wouldn't get bogged down in soft spots, and had covered the engines and treads to make sure sand didn't get in the gears while they waited. The troops had eaten and were well-supplied, the teams were functioning better than ever, and they'd hashed out how they were going to deploy.

The communications road led through a narrow steep-sided defile, which meant that they wouldn't be much room to maneuver on their part, while the Imps would be able to stick troops on the sides and fire down at them all the way, if they were given time to react.

Fortunately, the 10th, 14th, 19th, and 22nd Militia, with the 10th Regulars for "stiffening," would be mounting a diversionary attack a few miles to the north. Even if Damon wanted the 3rd bled white in the doing, he wanted the attack to succeed—after all, it was his reputation on the line.

Lannes smiled sardonically. He really preferred Varrot's approach, which included bringing as many troops back as possible while fulfilling the objective.

At least they had second priority on the mortars, and he really hoped Gunther wouldn't use them much. He suspected he wouldn't—the man preferred a lower-firepower approach than he did. But it was still concerning. The last thing he wanted to deal with was needing to clear out some sandbagged lancers and shocktroopers and finding out someone else was using the heavy weapons.

Which was another thing. He turned around to look at the attachment to his squad—a heavy gatling section. Eleven soldiers—their team leader, Sergeant Roland Thompson, and five per gun—three to carry the thing, two to carry the ammo box. They were going to slow the squad down, and he didn't like it one bit. They needed to get to that intersection fast. Yes, the guns would be very helpful for securing the road that led further up the line, but that wouldn't matter if the Imps got dug in before they got there.

On the other hand, now that he thought about it, there were two things to be said for them. First, the squad would probably be slowed by taking out Imp reinforcements. Second, if he left a team with them, they should be secure enough.

"Sergeant Traherne," he said as he jumped off the tank.

"Sir?" the scout replied, looking

"Your team is with Sergeant Thompson and his gatlings. Stay with them when we go forward. I'm pretty sure you'll catch up to us soon enough."

"Understood, sir."

The sun poked its head over the cliff, and the _Edelweiss_ fired off what Lannes assumed was the smoke round.

He held his breath. If this didn't work…

A giant whitish-gray cloud covered the entrance under the bunkers, and Squad 7, led by their new tank, the _Shamrock_ , surged forward into the smoke. The bunkers kept silent, and the gunfire that he could hear was moving further and further away, and Squad 8 began to move forward.

Then the smoke starting fading away, and the _Edelweiss_ fired again, and Enjolras' tank, _ABC,_ waddled into the smoke.

"Let's move," Lannes said into the radio, and _Thistle_ lurched forward, along with the rest of Squad 2.

There wasn't a lot for him to do at this point but stay on top of the tank and look around to make sure nothing slipped by. The _Edelweiss_ fired another smoke round while the squad was filtering through the slot, fortunately not hitting anyone, and as _Thistle_ came out of the smoke he looked to the side and saw gouts of flame and columns of smoke coming out of the sides of the cliffs, and knew that Enjolras would clear the path. But now they had to get through the wreckage of the Imp defenses, and he was honestly impressed. Squad 7 had really done a number on them, and as they pushed north he grinned and gave Sergeant Melchiott a wave as they pushed onto the communications road. She waved back, and then got back to the business of clearing the dogleg.

Lannes didn't envy them that, although it looked like they'd taken care of the hard part.

Now it was his turn, and he hoped that they wouldn't run into any of those heavy tanks.

That would be…problematic.

The squad shook itself into line as they moved down the road, and he eyed the deployment carefully. Yancey and Rogers were deployed forward, with _Thistle_ and _Briar_ right behind them, and Friedrich and the snipers in the back checking for attempts to cut them off from the beach. And there were Traherne and Thompson, already nearly a hundred meters behind. That wasn't good, but they needed to push.

Besides, a minute's stop to deal with an Imp squad and they'd be caught up just fine.

He just needed to keep telling himself that.

They made it half a kilometer up the road before they ran into the first Imp force, a scout team that must have been sent to see how bad things were.

They were a speed bump—all it took was a single volley of rifle grenades and a quick flurry of shots to bring down the staggering survivors.

The next attack, which happened less than a minute and a hundred meters later, and began when another scout team, presumably the squad mates of the team they'd just wiped out, poked their heads over the side of the defile and started shooting.

That one was slightly more difficult to deal with, as the walls were high enough that rifle grenades couldn't reach, and neither could the tanks' mortar rounds.

On the other hand, the snipers and riflemen could, and the resultant firefight, while taking more time than he wanted, ended with no casualties for his men and a delay of less than a minute. The engineers applied ragnaid to those who'd been hit, and then they pushed on as the road began to go up an incline.

Much to Lannes' surprise, they arrived at the crossroads without further incident. Unfortunately, the crossroads was not as defensible as they'd hoped. The Imps had apparently improved a natural gully and turned it into a usable road, and the crossroads was right at the top. If they got pushed off, it would be a very bad day for the Gallians. On the other hand, he could anchor his left flank on the side of the ravine without too much fear. His right, though—hopefully Berthelmy would get here soon. He could hear the sounds of battle to the east—hopefully they'd keep the Imps focused there.

The engineers and lancers immediately set to sandbagging and setting up the trenching charges, while the shocktroopers, including Lannes, started digging and the scouts, snipers, and tanks started doing overwatch.

Even more to his surprise than arriving without incident and the terrain, Traherne and Thompson came up about two minutes after the main body arrived—and they arrived with Fina.

"What're you doing here?" he asked when she jumped out of the ambulance.

"Varrot's sending us all out this way. Enjolras' squad's cleared out the bunkers, and Gunther's cleared out the forward base. Berthelmy's not far behind me, and Gina's with him…"

Gunfire erupted from the south.

"Heinrich, do you read me? Over!"

"What's going on, Louis?"

"Imps just ambushed us. I'm facing an anti-tank squad deployed across the road and a scout squad up top. I'm trying to get the troops deployed, but it looks like this could take some time."

Lannes cursed. "Get here as soon as you can. I don't know when the Imps are going to show up, but it's going to be soon."

He looked around. Thompson's men were setting up the gatlings behind the lip of the road. Solid plan. And…the scouts on the left flank were running this way. Hopefully they'd be ready in the next five minutes.

"Whatever you're doing, get it done fast," he yelled, walking briskly over to where the scouts were coming in. It wouldn't do to run just yet.

Seydlitz came up to him just before the sandbag line.

"Sir, there's an Imp assault squad coming in. Two medium tanks in support."

This one would be easy, at least.

"Get the snipers and lancers over to the left side," he ordered. "Let's get this done before more Imps show up." The scouts were already taking cover behind the sandbags as he smiled mirthlessly. The Imps probably figured his force was the one they had blocked up on the road. No Imp commander would have stuck a single squad out like this.

Of course, their squads hadn't more than doubled in size since the beginning of the war, either. This was going to be a really bad day for some people.

The snipers began to fire. On this ground, their range advantage could be fully exploited, and he knew that for every bullet they fired an Imp went down. The lancers ran forward and set up, waiting for the first tank to come within killing range.

Both tanks fired their main guns, presumably to try and suppress the snipers.

Both missed.

Half the lancers fired, and one of the tanks blew apart. Then the other half fired, and the second tank did likewise.

The scouts started firing, then stopped. None of the Imps were up, and they began to move forward again.

He heard Fina step forward behind him.

"Lieutenant, permission to help their wounded?"

He turned. "Permission denied," he said flatly, and continued when her expression grew mutinous. "I don't know when the next Imps are coming—for all I know, that was the screen for a whole company. We need you here. Set yourself up a few meters down the road, where they can't see you."

She glared at him briefly, but nodded, ran back to her ambulance, and drove it down a little. Hopefully she wouldn't do anything stupid…

The firing from down the road stopped.

"Heinrich, we're through. No one's retreating in your direction."

"Thanks, Louis. Just look out for Fina—I've got her setting up shop by the road."

"Understood."

Berthelmy's squad, Gina in tow, passed by, and Wilders followed not far behind, turning right at the crossroads—apparently that road led to a bunker complex where the Imps had some guns that were giving the regiments attacking the line fits.

Wilders wasn't a bearer of good news, though. He asked her when the rest were arriving and she replied, "We barely got through. Imps came in just to the north of the beachhead. Kanawa, Falder, and Landzaat are engaging them now and holding them off fine, but they said they might be awhile. Enjolras and Gunther are both pretty disorganized still, and a lot of their people are down. Mina's with them, though. I'd say the rest'll be here in twenty minutes."

Lannes sighed and nodded. This plan really did have more places where if something failed it all failed than it should.

Admittedly, having even one part of a plan that was like that was too many, and he cursed Damon's obstinacy. If they'd been given some time they probably could have figured out a way to scramble up the rocks and push out from there.

But they hadn't gotten it, and now, as he watched Wilders' squad trot off into the distance as the scouts and snipers fanned out again and the rest of the squad strengthened their positions, he found himself wondering when the Imps would be back.

Five minutes after the last of Wilders' troops vanished into the distance and the team that had been covering that road had shifted to bolster the defenses of the other two, he saw the scouts start falling back towards his position.

"Get ready!" he yelled, and scrambled on top of _Thistle_ to get a better look at what was coming.

It was going to be interesting, but doable. Two Imp assault squads with four medium and one light tank in support on each road.

And as far as he knew, he had the mortars.

But which one to lay them on?

The left flank. His right flank was covered by Berthelmy and Wilders' attack, and once Kanawa, Falder, and Landzaat pushed up the center road he wouldn't need to worry much about attacks from that direction, so he could afford to take more of a beating there.

He switched the radio channel. "Captain, requesting mortar support."

"Granted, Lieutenant," Varrot replied. "Connecting you to the mortar squad now."

"Lieutenant Diamant here. Request fire mission coordinates, over."

Lannes pulled the map out of his pocket as the snipers began to fire. "Coordinates Seven-Two-Zero-Nine, Six-Five-Three-Eight."

"Roger. Ranging shot firing now. Azimuth from this position west-north-west."

As he said the last "west," the ranging shell struck behind the Imperial tanks.

"Twenty meters long, ten meters to the right" Lannes said, right before _Thistle_ let off a round.

"Roger. Adjusting. On the way."

Three seconds later, another round landed, this time blasting two scouts into the air.

"Direct hit, pour it on!"

"Roger. All mortars firing five-round stonk. On the way."

The Imps had spread out when the mortar rounds started landing, but several rounds still hit multiple soldiers, and while the shocktroopers and lancers could take a direct hit and still stand, that left them easy meat for the scouts and snipers. Meanwhile, one of the Imp medium tanks was already down, another blew before his eyes, and the others were slamming into reverse as they saw their infantry support scythed down around them.

 _So much for that,_ Lannes thought as he turned his head to the right to see how the other Imp force was faring, and winced. They were still going down, but at least a few of the shocktroopers were going to get in range—even though the snipers had brought down the lancers quickly,

And two of the Imp medium tanks were down, which meant _Briar_ was a little safer than it had been. But they were still coming on, and soon…

The first Imp tank mortar round landed right in one of the trenches, sending a shocktrooper—Lannes couldn't tell who—forward out of it, fairly obviously down for the count. The tank that fired it exploded two seconds later, but the surviving Imp shocktroopers were getting into range, and they knew they weren't going to be able to withdraw, so they tried to take down as many Gallians as possible before they fell.

They didn't take down many. Crichton added _Thistle_ 's firepower to the push against the center thrust, and the rightmost scouts deployed to the left flank added their guns and lances to the defense.

Within a minute, the Imps were done, but half a dozen of his troops were down as well, and he snarled as he saw them being carried back to where Fina had set up her ambulance. Three scouts, two shocktroopers, and a lancer were all down, and _Briar_ had taken some hits, although the engineers were patching it up.

He knew it wasn't over, though. There'd be at least one more push to hold off before the Imps retreated. If the other squads didn't get a move on, there'd be more.

Ten minutes later, Falder's squad, followed by Mina, Kanawa and Landzaat, came up the road, as Fina, having stabilized the Gallian wounded, got those of his troops not engaged in shoring up the defenses or watching for another attack to haul the enemy wounded who were within range back to the aid station, while Thompson moved his other gatling close to the one on the left.

Lannes started shifting the rest of the squad around the moment that the force sent to finish unhinging the Imperial line passed the crossroads. The Imp commander hadn't displayed a great deal of subtlety so far, and something told him he wasn't going to try and flank them. No, the next assault was going to come straight up the road.

10 minutes passed. Then fifteen. Then his radio crackled.

"Heinrich, this is Captain Varrot. Status report."

"Doing fine, Captain. Imps don't seem to to've—" he broke off as he saw the scouts start running back towards the defenses like Hel was on their heels. "Just a moment, Captain. I think the situation just changed." He added as he jumped off _Thistle_ and ran to Traherne.

"It's two Imp assault companies, sir!" Traherne yelled when he got into earshot. "And they've got two heavy tanks with them, with several mediums and a couple of lights. And the infantry're blackshirts."

Lannes' blood ran cold. While the ones at Fouzen hadn't been much to talk about, the field troops were the Empire's elite. This was going to be a very bad day. They'd faced odds this bad before, but they'd had room to maneuver then. Now…

"Captain, I've got two Imp companies with heavy tank support coming my way. Are the mortars still available?"

"Yes, they are. Wilders and Berthelmy silenced the guns, but they're barely keeping the Imps off of them. Falder, Kanawa, and Landzaat are giving the main force the hole they need, but if those Imps get to them before they do the whole plan fails. They need thirty minutes, Lieutenant. Gunther's fought out, and Enjolras isn't much better. You have to hold."

Lannes looked around. The gatlings and the defile were anchoring his left. His right was in the air, but as near as he could tell, now that he could see the tanks, the Imps were centered on the road. They might lap around, but there was no time to redeploy. And if this became a battle of attrition, he'd lose. On the other hand, Gallia would win. As long as he didn't run, that would happen.

It was kind of a relief, honestly.

"Understood, ma'am. If you could patch me through to the mortars and please tell the others to move faster, I would appreciate it. It's going to get hot around here in the next minute. But they'll get the time they need, or I won't be here."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Varrot out."

Diamant's voice came over the radio. "Fire mission order?"

"Request fire mission one hundred meters to the northwest of previous coordinates, over."

"Request received, ranging shot now."

Three seconds later, two gouts of smoke and flame erupted, one from within the Imperial lines, one barely fifty meters in front of his squad's position.

"Did you fire two shots?" he demanded.

"No, Lieutenant."

 _Nuts._ Lannes switched the channels. "All units disperse out. Imp mortars are coming in." _Why they didn't pre-register this place I don't know, but I'm glad they didn't._ He switched back. "You still there?"

"Still here, Lieutenant."

"Shift fire back to the first coordinates I gave you," Lannes said as his snipers began to bring down their counterparts and the tanks and lancers began to trade shots. "Pour it on."

"Roger. Five round stonk coming in. Over," and the Imperial mortars began to crash the party as Lannes switched back to the channel for his squad. "We hold here, boys and girls. If we run, our comrades die, and die for nothing." The scouts and gatlings began to fire, and Lannes winced as _Briar_ took a heavy tank round in the same moment that said tank blew apart at the welds and the first Gallian mortar rounds began to fall among the Imps.

But the Imps were still forging ahead, and he jumped off of _Thistle_ and ran forward. Those scouts still standing launched a rifle grenade volley, three more Imp tanks blew up, and the Imp shocktroopers came into MAG range as he reached the firing line.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

Half of them went down, but half were still standing, and they did not stop to return fire. Instead, they pushed forward, and Lannes realized what they were about to do. "Flamethrowers!" he yelled, and dropped his magazine and pulled the trigger on his as a faceless black-armored figure began to sweep a firey arc across his squad's positions. The screams he could hear around him weren't all Imperial, though, and he saw an Imp tank loft a mortar round into a Gallian trench half a second before its turret flew skyward.

Then he heard another chain of ragnite explosions, wondered when the Imps had gotten their version of the Randgrizer, and the world ended as a dragon's roar filled his ears.

"He's waking up, ma'am," he heard Fina say, and he realized that he was lying on a stretcher.

"What happened?" he asked, turning his head to his right.

"You got caught between two Imperial mortar rounds. If only one of them had hit you would have been fine, but two?" The medic shook her head. "You're lucky your suit maintained integrity. You should be on your feet by tomorrow, though."

"Good job, Lieutenant," Varrot said from his left, and he turned his head to look at her. She looked unusually solemn, and though he feared to, he asked the first question that came to his mind.

"How many, Captain?"

"None, Lieutenant. Your entire squad will be back on duty within the week. Apparently your engineers got their hands on some spare Randgrizers, and fired them into the Imperial ranks when they got in close enough to use flamethrowers."

That explained the final grenade volley.

"The Imps broke then. If it hadn't been for that, you and half your squad would probably be dead."

That fit with what he remembered.

"Sergeant Yancey then filled up the line and got you and the other casualties back here." She paused and looked at him for a moment. "You gave the others the time they needed, Lieutenant."

"How bad were they hit?"

Varrot shook her head. "The squads that attacked the Imperial lines had the same casualties that you did. Lots of injured, no deaths. Enjolras' squad was the same. Gunther's…" she paused.

"What happened, Captain?"

"At the same time that your squad beat off the last assault, two Imperial soldiers who managed to hide decided to make a break for it. As they fled, they shot Isara. And none of the medics were available."

Lannes winced. This was going to do a number on Gunther.

Varrot sighed. "But we still won, Lieutenant. The other regiments are carving a hole in the Imperial lines right now. Now if you'll excuse me, I still need to see the others."

As she walked away, Lannes let his head fall back onto the stretcher. There was still one more thing to do, though.

"Fina?"

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"Where's Sergeant Traherne?"

"Right over there," she pointed back behind him. "Almost all of the scouts are back here. Don't worry about the others, Lieutenant. They'll be alright."

 _I hope so,_ Lannes thought as sleep took him again. _I hope so._

The nightmares resumed, as per usual.

 **A/N: I tried to come up with why there wasn't a medic in range for Isara, and this was the best explanation I could come up with.**


	17. Interlude: Letters from War III

_As Gallian forces pushed the Empire north, the stress and strain on southern Gallia's resources decreased as refugees began to return to their homes and try to put their lives back together. However, this process was not without its own problems, as those who had fled often came back to homes and businesses wrecked by the war or occupied by squatters, while those who had stayed were often traumatized by their experiences during either the Imperial occupation or the reclaiming of Gallia's land. The consequences of the resultant disputes often spilled over onto the military…_

Excerpted with permission from _A Social History of the Second Europan War_ , Amalie Rigolet; Varrot Books, 1973

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

July 5, 1935

Dad,

I'm sorry I haven't responded to your last two letters. Apparently the military postal service was informed that we would be returning to base nearly three weeks before we actually did, and no one bothered to actually tell them otherwise. As you can imagine, that caused some problems, but at least the outgoing letters were delivered correctly.

We had a bit of a fight coming back through the Wildwood—I can imagine that was why you sent that second letter—and while there were some hairy bits it wasn't too bad. It certainly wasn't as bad as the desert. Things also weren't particularly restful the first few days after we got back.

As to things at home, as I mentioned in the last letter I wrote, we're taking territory back. I'm fairly sure that if you asked around, you'd find that some of the refugees have gone back home. I don't know when we'll take Fouzen back, and while I'm sure that it's very difficult to deal with certain habits, we're having our own problems.

Your son,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

July 5, 1935

Jeanne,

Sorry about not responding before now—there was a clerical error, and all our mail got delivered back to the base camp while we were stuck in the desert. I hope you never have to deal with that sort of stoppage.

We had a bit of a time coming back from the desert, as I'm sure you heard. It wasn't a hard fight, just one with some high stakes, which is why you heard about it. There was also some housecleaning we had to do after we got back.

More personally, there's a girl. Don't tell our parents, please. She's nice _and_ good—I knew her before the war—and hopefully you'll get the chance to meet her once this is all done. And, speaking of which, I'd like to meet the man you talked about, but from what you wrote he seems like an alright fellow. My advice would be to talk to some mutual friends—and, as I wrote to you months ago, be careful. And yes, I'm being careful too. Besides, she's a hundred miles away right now.

Love,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

July 5, 1935

Julia,

I've never been one for being soppy, but that evening was one of the best I've ever had. I'd like to have one like it with you again, the next chance we get—and maybe we won't have to worry about having to meet our comrades at a specific time, and can take our time about things.

Nothing's really changed since we talked, at least not that I can write about right now. There was…an incident. Nothing actually happened, but if things had gone wrong—well, you'd have heard about it, believe me.

Well, one thing's changed—Friedrich's promotion came through, and he's a corporal now, as he should have been since before Vasel.

Also, please do give Gerson and Frake my regards, if you would. They seem like good people.

Love,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

July 19, 1935

Dad,

We're finally at full strength, now. I don't know where we're going next, but it seems like we're preparing for something big. This is the longest space we've had without an operation, and I'm not sure what it means. You know how it is—not any different than it was when you were in.

If there's a problem with the training it's that it gives you too much time to think, particularly about what could go wrong. I'm glad I haven't had to face the choices you did back in the first war, but I don't know how much longer that kind of luck can hold out.

Despite that, we do need the training. A full strength squad is a force to be reckoned with—especially now that we're _fully_ equipped—but learning to control such a large force is a challenge. But the noncoms are rising to it, and I'd like to think I am too.

On a related note, I'm glad things have gotten easier at home now that everyone's figured out what the problem actually was. Hopefully we'll have taken some more territory by the time something else comes up.

Your son,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

July 19, 1935

Jeanne,

I know you were joking in that last letter about me protesting too much, but _please_ don't tell our parents—because if you do, I am definitely telling them about you, and _no one_ wants that to happen. You know how they got when you and Danny went out a couple of years ago. Imagine how they'll be now. It's best if they don't know until matters are more settled, no?

Anyway, we're still in base camp, still training. We're at full strength now, and trying to keep control over that many soldiers can be difficult, but we're learning, slowly but surely. There's light at the end of the tunnel.

In the interests of you continuing your stories of the wonders of the Auxiliary (particularly the staple hunt), allow me to share with you this fun little tale. Apparently, for reasons unknown to anyone else, one of the lieutenants—I won't say who—having gotten involved with another officer, decided that it would be a good idea to boot-knock on one of the desks in the headquarters building—one of those built back during the first war, when they were slapping things together with spit and baling wire.

Take a guess as to how long that lasted before they ended up on the floor with bits of furniture everywhere, and everyone within five offices checking to make sure they were okay. Turned out they were, aside from dying of embarrassment. I was okay with the desk breaking, honestly—the office was right next to mine, and neither was as good as being quiet as they thought they were.

Looking forward to your next letter.

Love,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

July 19, 1935

Julia,

I never thought I'd say this about anyone as opposed to just thinking it, but I miss you. A lot. Part of it's because training's left us a lot of time on our hands, but I think I'd miss you anyway.

You wanted to know a bit more about how the squad was doing, now that Friedrich's a corporal. It's really not that much different, although it's nice to have another scout as a team leader. We've also got another new corporal, fellow named Gregory. Good man with a tank. And, much like with your field kitchen, love has been in the air here in Squad 2. I'm pretty sure that Yancey and Rogers are…involved, Friedrich and a young woman named Kat are as well (which happened before he became a corporal, and they're on different teams now, so I'm not worried), and there's half-a-dozen other relationships I know about and probably as many more that I don't. And as to my fellow officers—! I don't even want to talk about that.

I can't even blame it on the fact that we've been spending so much time training, because it started back in June. Come to think of it, I could probably blame it on all that time we spent in the Barious desert guarding that ruin.

Love,

Heinrich

* * *

Captain,

The report you requested.

Battle of Fouzen Review

Positives: The squad's firepower has significantly multiplied now that we have the new weapons, as demonstrated by how quickly we were able to overwhelm Imperial forces. Also, everyone reacted to the sudden change in plans extremely quickly and extremely well. The squad also maintained discipline, despite extremely trying circumstances. Furthermore, Lieutenant Kanawa's coordination was excellent, and he handled the defense of the gate extremely skillfully. Finally, the utter destruction of the Imperial force defending Fouzen may serve to prevent further atrocities from being committed in the future—and the fanaticism of the Imperial soldiers may indicate desperation, given that they gave up any hope of escape to deny us a potential source of recruits and labor. (The alternative is…too disturbing to contemplate.)

Negatives: Half the reason the troops did not lose discipline was because I told them, although not in so many words, that we would enforce the laws of war ourselves rather than letting higher authorities do so. Also, too many people burned to death that day. On a more tactical level, the Imperial forces' performance significantly improved when they actually had competent leadership, which may not bode well.

Overall Summary: This battle vindicates our resistance to the Empire. That is all.

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

August 10, 1935

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

August 14, 1935

Dad,

I don't know how much you heard about what happened in Fouzen. It was…rough. The Imps forced their prisoners into their barracks and then lit the barracks on fire. What kind of person does that? You told me about a lot of things that happened in the trenches during the war, but nothing like this. And those barracks they didn't manage to burn—Valkyrur damn those guards. It was worse than anything I've ever smelled, and it was pretty obvious no one there had enough to eat.

The squad performed magnificently, though—they were as good as anyone you commanded during the last war. They went from being on defense and ready to catch the Imps in an ambush to going on the attack so we could save some civilians faster than you could blink. And when we needed to go in among flaming buildings to save who we could, not one hesitated, at least not that I could see. I wish you could have seen them.

Also, now that we've got Fouzen back—and killed one of the Imp commanders, some fellow named Gregor—we should make some more headway elsewhere.

Your son,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

August 14, 1935

Jeanne,

Fouzen was pretty bad. Not because of the fighting—we mopped the floor with Imps once their armored train went down—but because of what happened when the Imps realized they were about to lose the place. They tried to kill all of their prisoners and then escape. Well, we stopped that plan dead in its tracks.

There's not much more I can say about that, really, besides that taking Fouzen back means the war's a bit closer to over.

Love,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

August 16, 1935

Julia,

I don't know how much to write to you right now.

Fouzen…well, you probably know what happened in Fouzen, it's in all the papers, now. Kanawa and I were the first two who got to the camp.

Smoke, flame, screaming…I don't want to write this to you, but I'm trying not to hide things. The prisoners were starving. The Imps locked up _kids_ in that camp. There weren't many survivors among the guards.

The squad…the squad was magnificent. They were all ready to go on the attack, even the ones who don't like Darcsens at all. And once they got there—no one flinched, no one balked. Everyone plunged into the fire to try and save those people. I'm glad you weren't there to see it, but I'm glad that something happened to redeem that day.

I don't know where we're going next. But Fouzen is ours now.

Please write soon.

Love,

Heinrich.


	18. The Battle of Bruhl

_Once the Gallian high command was relieved of its obsession with retaking the Marberry shore, it turned its attention to retaking other portions of the country. Initially they planned to retake Citadel Ghirlandaio; however, after running into stiff resistance in the old trenchlines of the Naggiar Plains, they turned instead to retaking the northeast. This was not welcomed by Prince Maximillian, who wanted to force a confrontation somewhere he could bring his advantages into play. So he ordered a withdrawal, but left a few rearguard units in the border towns…_

Excerpted with permission from "The Battles of Bruhl," Cesare Landzaat; part of _The Border War,_ ed. Captain Eleanor Varrot; University of Randgriz Press, 1958

The "Unrecognized Lieutenants," as they called themselves, were sitting around a table in one of the few private rooms in the Randgrizian Arms, pints of beer and ale ready to hand. There were certain things that just weren't done, and having the sort of conversation they were having either in the Officer's Club or in public was one of them.

"Does anyone _else_ think it's kind of obnoxious that Varrot's going so hard to bat for us to liberate Gunther's hometown?" Enjolras half-snarled.

Berthelmy grunted. "Yes. The lieutenant isn't a bad fellow, but it does sometimes seem like things are done more for his convenience than anything else."

Heinrich said nothing as the others vented their frustrations, but stared into his lager and tried to determine what he thought about the issue. Yes, it was true that there were times when it seemed like Gunther and Squad 7 were the main characters in a story somebody was writing and that everything seemed to happen for and to them. On the other hand, none of the other lieutenants had lost their adopted younger sister to some Imp nutbar who'd wanted to get one last shot in.

And besides…

Wilders spoke for the first time, asking the question that he was just about to think. "Is anyone else's hometown under Imperial control?"

"Heinrich's is," Berthelmy offered.

The man shook his head. "Ghirlandaio town wasn't where I was born. I'm from down south, around Mellvere."

"Then why were you in Ghirlandaio?" Kanawa asked curiously.

He shrugged. "I found a job there. The pay was good, and living there was cheaper than you might think." He sighed. "It might have been home in a year or so, but losing it wasn't quite the same as it would've been if I'd grown up there." He stopped, unwilling to say more. Besides, they'd all heard the story.

"And," Kanawa mentioned, "we can't _get_ to Ghirlandaio town. That's on the Imperials' main supply line. Getting there would take the whole army."

"Still," Enjolras grumped.

Falder chimed in. "Look, I think we can agree that the Captain nearly going to the wall to get us in on retaking Bruhl wouldn't be _nearly_ as upsetting as it is if it weren't for that reporter giving Squad 7 more attention than the entire rest of the regiment put together."

"Be fair, Jo," Wilders chided. "She's embedded with them after all."

Falder wasn't mollified. "And so?" she demanded. "Look at this last issue of _The Writing on the Wall._ It's good copy, and it's closer to reality than the official stuff, but look at her treatment of the assault. Gunther gets almost the entire article. Enjolras gets a mention once, and the rest of us are lumped in under 'the rest of the regiment passed through and unhinged the Imperial line!'"

She threw up her hands. "Heinrich here nearly _died_ holding the crossroads,and he doesn't even get a mention."

He was really starting to get annoyed about being used as a football, and opened his mouth to say so just before Berthelmy replied, "That is the way of it. There are hundreds who die without fanfare every day. For all that we would have sorrowed at his death, whether Heinrich here lives or dies is not relevant to her readers."

Heinrich reminded himself not to mistake hot air and bluster for idiocy, and changed course from what he was going to say. "Look, I'm as annoyed as you are, and the special treatment it seems like Gunther and his squad get is frustrating as anything. But like Wilders any of _us_ aren't getting to liberate our hometowns or anything because of this."

Enjolras grumbled a bit at that, but nodded along with the others

"Besides, it gives us an extra few days to rest. I say we take it. Ladies and gentlemen, to victory."

"To victory," they echoed, and all quaffed as one, Heinrich happy that harmony had been at least been sort of restored.

The whole thing still rankled a bit.

* * *

As the 3rd Militia marched down the road to Bruhl, still miles and miles away from anything even resembling the front line, Heinrich Lannes found himself pausing frequently just to take in everything—and, to a certain degree, everyone—around him.

Crichton and Gregory were bantering about their tanks to each other over the radio—they really shouldn't have been, but he didn't have the heart to tell them to stop—the squad was relaxed and joking with each other as they marched along, and while the sun was high and the sky was clear, the light breeze coming from the west did a good job of keeping things cooler than was usually expected in August.

It was, all in all, a good day. Then it became an interesting day.

"Heinrich," Landzaat said over the radio, "Have you heard the news?"

"I'm not sure what news you're referring to, Faldio," Lannes replied. "What's going on?"

"They've brigaded us."

"Finally. It took them long enough." It was also yet another sign that Gallia was out of the woods, now that that individual regiments weren't being shuffled around to plug up holes and bolster offensives. "Do we know who we're with?"

"Captain said we were with the 19th and 22nd Militia. We've also got some regulars with us, supposedly to back us up."

Lannes snorted. "I don't think we're the ones who need backup."

"I agree, but supposedly this crew is based around the old Vasel Defense Battalion. From what I've heard they've been trying to clear their name of the shame of losing that bridge to begin with."

"Do we know who's in command?"

"No idea. We've also got some artillery and logistical support. We won't be wondering whether we're going to get one of the field kitchens run by a prison cook."

Lannes grimaced. The field kitchens varied a _lot_ based on who commanded them. Some produced food that he might have considered paying for. Others…if he'd been served food like that back in peacetime, he would have demanded that _they_ pay _him_ for taking the slop off their hands.

He wondered where Julia's field kitchen had been assigned. He'd have to ask in the letter he was in the middle of writing.

That dampened his mood slightly, although only a little. The letter he'd sent after the Marberry Shore had told her about what had happened there, although he'd deliberately been light on the details, like how he'd gone back up to the lines and found an Imp shocktrooper less than ten feet away from where the mortar blasts had left him.

He was a little worried about her, honestly. The letter he'd gotten back in reply was a little lacking in her usual spirit, although at least she'd explained why so _he_ wasn't left worrying. Apparently one of the cooks, an older man named Gerson, had keeled over right after they'd finished cleaning up after feeding one of the regiments. She was taking it hard—apparently the man had taken her under his wing—and while it was nice that she trusted him enough to reveal that, it was still concerning that it needed to be revealed. Although it was a sign that she was a healthy human being—no one could get through this war without some sorrow. Still and all, it wasn't good.

But there was nothing he could do about that now, and he decided to enjoy the sun on his face, the wind at his back, and the fact that no one in the immediate vicinity wanted to kill him while he still could.

When they stopped for the night, ten kilometers outside of Bruhl, Lannes first set up a light watch—they were behind the lines, but it was still best to be careful—saw to it that everyone was there and wasn't too footsore, and oversaw the setup of the squad so that no one would end up getting run over by the tanks if they got moving quickly, dropped on the ground next to _Thistle_ , and leaned back against the treads to finish writing his letter.

About two sentences in, his radio crackled.

"Lieutenant," Varrot said, "The field kitchen's set up, but we're not moving all the troops through the lines. Send some of your men down to pick up food for tonight's supper and tomorrow's breakfast."

"Yes ma'am," he replied. "I'll send some down right now."

"Good. Also, we're meeting tomorrow morning at six to discuss the attack on Bruhl."

"Understood, ma'am."

"Excellent. Varrot out."

"Sergeant Traherne!"

"Sir?" he replied from across the squad's bivouac area.

"Get a detail down to the field kitchen. We're eating up here tonight."

"Yes sir! Delmon! Tromp! Bullfinch!..."

As Traherne reeled off names and the troops in question went to the kitchen to get their food for the next two meals, Lannes got back to writing his letter.

The food detail returned twenty minutes later, just as the sun was setting, and when Lannes came up to get his, he noticed that the sergeant had an odd look on his face—like the cat that had just swallowed the canary.

"Is there something I should know, Sergeant?" he asked.

"No sir," came the bland reply. "Nothing that presently requires your attention."

Lannes suspected that it might very much require his attention shortly, but decided to let it go. If he couldn't trust his platoon sergeant, he might as well resign now. And besides, the smell of the food was getting him hungry, and he aimed to sleep as soon as he finished. Which he did.

He awoke as dawn began to break, made sure the squad was awake and getting ready, and hurried down to the regimental headquarters tent, arriving five minutes before six and just after, somewhat awkwardly for him, Gunther and Landzaat.

Fortunately, the other lieutenants and Varrot arrived shortly, and the meeting started on time.

"Here's the situation," the captain began. "Bruhl is currently held by two Imperial garrison companies with tank support. There's an old windmill in the center of town that they're almost certainly using as a sniper's perch and artillery observation post."

She looked around briefly and continued. "We will advance to the outskirts of town and begin to put pressure on the Imperial forces. Wilders will be on the far left, Kanawa on the far right. You will be the flank guards, and once we pry the Imperials out of Bruhl you'll swing in and catch them on the road. Lannes will be to Wilders' right, Berthelmy to Kanawa's left. I want you deployed on the Mill Roads into town, to launch diversionary attacks." Her eyes bored into theirs from behind her glasses. "Diversionary attacks. If you get a breakthrough, by all means take it, but don't press for one."

Lannes nodded, and noticed Berthelmy did so with some hesitation. Personally, he was glad to ease back into the action instead of going full-bore into it.

"Falder, you'll be between Lannes and the main road. Enjolras, likewise with Berthelmy. Support their attacks, but don't move forward yourselves. You'll also be giving Landzaat and Gunther fire support."

She turned to the men in question. "Gunther and Landzaat, you'll be on the main road, and you'll be the main attack…"

As Varrot talked, Lannes started running through how he was going to make this work. Traherne and Friedrich forward, Yancey and Rogers in reserve. Put the tanks behind the forward squads but in front of the reserve. Tell the snipers to do their thing, but keep an eye on the windmill. He wasn't particularly worried about Imp snipers, but it never hurt to be careful. He nodded. He had a plan, and just in time, too. Varrot was finishing.

"This is a mopping up operation. Stay careful out there. I want us out of here by seven. Wilders, Kanawa, you're in front. Now get moving."

"Yes ma'am," the lieutenants chorused, and quickly left the tent.

Lannes had just stepped outside when he heard a voice say from behind him, "It's been awhile, Lieutenant," and he turned to see Captain—no, Major, Ritterbach standing behind him, smiling grimly, along with Mattin, who was a captain now, and two other captains he didn't recognize. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, Major," he replied. "When I heard it was the Vasel Defense Battalion with the brigade I hoped you'd be in command."

Ritterbach grimaced. "I wasn't, initially. Damon put one of his cronies' nephews in charge who wanted some combat experience. He got himself killed during one of the early counteroffensives after Vasel."

Lannes decided not to inquire too closely about how that had happened.

"We ended up consolidating into 1st and 3rd companies," the major continued, "then folded in the only surviving company from another battalion in as the 2nd. We've been shuffled around all over the place." He paused. "I hear this regiment's had some interesting times."

"Interesting and occasionally terrifying."

"Of course. Is Captain Varrot here? I'm trying to meet with all the other regimental commanders."

"I'm right here, Major," Varrot said, stepping out of the tent. "Do you want a moment to talk?"

"Yes, captain. Have a good morning, Lieutenant."

"You as well, Major," Lannes responded, and hurried off as Ritterbach, his officers, and Varrot went into the tent. There was a lot to do, and little time to do it in.

They arrived at Bruhl shortly after noon, and were in place and ready to go within thirty minutes, engaging in some desultory skirmishing with defenders in order to draw their attention away from the south road, moving forward slowly but surely. Wilders had dug in to the north, but was reporting no sign of enemy forces; when Falder arrived, her squad began taking potshots at the Imps as well, while the sounds of firing to the east said that the Imps were engaged on that side.

Lannes squatted in a fold in the ground a few meters behind his front line and a few meters in front of where _Briar_ and _Thistle_ were seeking out targets of opportunity. So far few had presented themselves, although he'd seen one lancer crumple from two bullets to the face, and it seemed like there was something of a snipers' duel going on—from the sound of it, his were winning, but that wouldn't fulfill his objective.

He popped his head out to look at the street again. He didn't like it. Plenty of sandbags with no obvious purpose, mines scattered everywhere, and a lot of tank obstacles. This was going to have be both methodical and relentless—lots of firepower, little maneuver.

He smiled. That was his forte.

"Heinrich," Falder's voice crackled over the radio, "Gunther's getting set up."

"Thanks, Jo," Lannes replied, racking the slide on his MAG. "Time to make some noise." He switched frequencies.

"Squad 2, time to draw them on us. Let's go, just like we planned."

Two seconds later, Lannes heard two explosions so close together they sounded like one, and he stood up and ran forward with the shocktroopers and lancers from Traherne and Friedrich's teams as the scouts, engineers, and snipers provided cover fire. Within ten seconds, they had their backs up against the outside walls, and he signaled.

As the lancers, armed with mortar lances, stepped around the corners and blindly fired, the shocktroopers, Lannes included, stuck their MAGs in the windows and lit off their flamethrowers.

There was a _lot_ of screaming, and Lannes was grateful that the town had been entirely evacuated when the Imps invaded. Lighting kids on fire would have been…bad.

He shoved away the memories that threatened him for a moment. There would be time for that later. Right now, he needed the Imps to be focused here.

He looked over at the lancer next to him, realized it was Bullfinch, and motioned for them to swap places. Having done so, he poked his head around the wall to see an Imp shocktrooper stumble out the door, coughing and gasping.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

The shocktrooper went down in a heap, and he pulled himself back behind the wall while he reloaded. The scouts and engineers ran up as the tanks rattled forward, and while they were taking a few hits, none of them were going down, and they were within rifle grenade range. They stopped and fired a volley behind the front row of houses, and he grinned when he saw a lancer thrown out into the street from the alley across the way.

The Imp tried to get back into the alley, but the tanks cut him down as Lannes turned on his radio. "Yancey, Rogers. Start moving forward, keep it slow, stay behind Traherne and Friedrich."

He waited until they started, then turned around and, looking everywhere he could, moved into the street behind and to the right of _Thistle,_ Bullfinch following. There was no one in the alley they'd just cleared, and he looked behind briefly to see the teams and snipers start moving down the street, slowly but surely, rifles, MAGs, and lances at the ready as the engineers disabled the mines.

He heard brief bursts of fire from his flanks and the rumblings of battle from where Berthelmy was crawling into the town on the other side, noted a disabled anti-tank gun in the alley across the way, and foolishly took a moment to congratulate himself on his foresight.

Then the first Imp reinforcements came out of the town square, a light tank in the lead, and all hell broke loose. His lancers were all armed with mortars, so they did not add to the fire—yet. The tanks, however, fired almost in unison and blew the Imp tank apart. The scouts, engineers, and snipers began to fire, and the grey-clad infantry desperately tried to make it as far forward as they could in order to keep the Gallians out of the town square.

That group didn't make it more than two blocks before they were forced into cover or were downed, and his troops were methodically moving towards them, slowly but surely, when the sounds of battle kicked up to the south, announcing that the main thrust had begun.

In that moment, he heard the Imperial fire begin to slacken, and he didn't hesitate. "Squad 2, _charge_ ," he yelled into the radio, and launched himself from his position behind one of the few intact sandbags on the street, the rest of the squad eagerly seizing on the change in plan as the tanks fired mortar rounds to clear out where they knew the Imps had set up.

The defenders began to flee. Their snipers had been slaughtered, their anti-tank capabilities were nearly nonexistent, they could hear the trap closing on them, they knew Maximilian had left them to die, and they knew they wouldn't do anything useful if they stayed.

So they broke and paid the price for it, as Heinrich Lannes and Squad 2 ran them down through the streets of Bruhl. He heard the sounds of Gunther smashing through the southern defenses like they were kindling and Berthelmy doing as he was doing on the other side, and only paused to tell Varrot to get Wilders and Kanawa going, because otherwise some of the Imps were going to get away.

He felt that old feeling of being alive again, for the first time since before they'd gone back to the Wildwood, and took a moment to revel in it before getting the squad back under control to make sure they didn't run into any ambushes.

They did not, and within an hour of the beginning of the fighting, Bruhl had been liberated, the 19th and 22nd Militia and the Vasel crew had pushed on through to the border (although they didn't cross it) and the 3rd had received orders to bivouac for the night on the rolling hills outside of the town. For now, however, it was eating time, and Lannes and Squad 2 went back to the town square to get lunch.

He noticed that Traherne had that odd look on his face again, and wondered what it meant. When they got closer to the field kitchen, he noticed it looked oddly familiar—which wasn't too shocking, they'd had meals from several different ones.

Then he noticed a woman who looked enough like Traherne that she could have been his sister doling out the stew.

Then he noticed that there was a very familiar-looking head of brown hair tucked under a cap, and turned to his platoon sergeant. "You've just been waiting for this moment, haven't you?" he asked quietly.

"Yes sir."

"That's your sister there, isn't it?"

"Yes sir. Sergeant Frake."

"She was the one who told you about Julia and the other girls going to Harriman's, wasn't she?"

"Yes sir."

"How long have you two been talking about this?"

Traherne had the good grace to look slightly uncomfortable. "'Tilda—that's my sister—wrote me after Vasel. Said she thought Corporal Firenze was sweet on you. Wanted to know if she should encourage her or not. I told her yes."

"And the two of you have been throwing us together ever since."

"Yes sir. 'Tilda—well, she sees the corporal as the daughter she never had. And, well, I thought you were suitable. Besides," he paused, then shrugged, and continued, "you needed a girlfriend. The troops were growing concerned."

"By which," Heinrich replied dryly as they approached the truck, the two having slung their weapons and gotten out their mess kits while they continued talking quietly, "you mean the pool you had going with some of the other regular noncoms."

Traherne's suddenly carefully blank expression was all the confirmation he needed that one of the whispered conversations he'd heard when passing by Hofstra's office had been about that, and he chuckled.

"Don't you worry, Sergeant," he said with a smile, "I'm not angry—I mean, what," he looked over at Julia, who he could tell was cheerfully pouring the coffee, "would I have to be angry about? It's practically in the rules that platoon sergeants manage their lieutenants. Although I think this might be slightly above and beyond the call of duty."

Traherne chuckled. "You've never met my sister. I needed to do it just to make sure I didn't get an earful."

That evening, Heinrich having talked _very_ briefly with Julia as he passed through the line for lunch, and then slightly less briefly as he passed through the line for supper, the two of them sat on a hilltop close enough to his squad to stay in contact and so that no one would get any ideas about what they'd been doing, but far enough away for at least a little privacy.

 _Although_ , he thought to himself as he came up for air the second time, _it might also help_ us _not get any ideas about what to get up to._

But that seemed to have gotten it out of her system, if it hadn't _quite_ succeeded with his, and so they sat for a little while and looked at the stars. Then Julia spoke.

"Heinrich?"

"Yes?"

"Do you ever think about what comes after?"

"After what?" he replied, thinking back to her last letter. "Death?"

She shook her head as she drew her knees up to her chest and linked her arms in front of them. "No, I meant after the war." She turned her head to look at him. "What are you going to do, Heinrich?"

That was a question he really didn't want to answer, because he didn't have one.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then decided to finally tell her the full truth.

"I don't know, Julia," he replied, turning to look her square in the face. "I've never hated anything more than this war. Fouzen was the worst of it, but just look at Bruhl!" he exclaimed as he waved his arm at the ruined town. "Everywhere it goes, everyone's worse off than they were before it started." He paused for a moment. Did he want to tell her? No, but he had to. Maybe it was too heavy for this moment, but he had to tell her. "But that's not the real problem," he whispered. "The real problem is that there have been moments in this war when I've never felt more alive than I was in that moment. When the victory's won, and the Imps surrender or break, and all my troops are still alive—I'm not sure there's a feeling like it in the world." He looked at her unreadable expression, and sighed. "That's why I don't know. I find myself dreading the prospect of going back and being an accountant. I mean, I'm worried that one day I might decide to do something really crazy and go yodeling across the border to join the guerrillas in Fhirald, or tell Chancellor Borg to his face that I think his goatee is creepy."

Julia snorted laughter despite herself, and Heinrich smiled with her, but their mirth faded quickly and he finished, saying "I just don't know what I'm going to do. Or what I should do. Or what I want to do."

There was more that he wanted to say, but he couldn't. Not yet. Not now. And so he waited for her to say something.

What she said was not what he expected her to say.

"Finally," she said exasperatedly.

"What?"

"Heinrich, you think girls don't talk about the letters they get from the boys who're interested in them? _Every other girl_ in the kitchen goes on and on about what their boyfriend's planning on doing after the war. _You've never mentioned it once._ "

There were, Heinrich thought, some disadvantages to liking a smart girl.

"So," she continued, "I thought you weren't sure about what do after the war, although I didn't know why. I don't know what to think about the rest." She paused. "But don't you dare think that being happy about keeping all your people alive while defeating the people who caused all this to happen means you're a bad person, Heinrich Lannes."

Well, that was good. Although he wasn't sure she'd be quite so adamant about that if she'd seen some of what he'd left behind. Well, come to think of it, she'd seen parts of Bruhl. So maybe she had. Then he thought of something.

"Wait. You haven't mentioned what you want to do afterwards either."

Julia blinked, and rubbed the back of her neck. "I don't know," she said softly. "I wasn't sure if Vredefort Import/Export would still be there after the war, and I wasn't sure where I'd find another job. But…when Sergeant Gerson died, I started wondering just what I _wanted_ to do with my life. And I realized that _I don't have a clue._ "

She looked at him. "There's going to be some changes because of this war. You haven't seen it, because you've only seen your regiment, but you're not the only ones who think Damon, Borg, and their cronies would have lost us the war if left to their own devices." She shrugged. "Maybe not knowing what we want to do means we'll be ready for whatever comes."

She shifted closer and snuggled into him. "But enough about that. How's the squad?"

"Well…" He paused when something caught his eye. "Look—there's a shooting star," he said, and stopped to watch it cross the sky.

"Made a wish?" Julia asked.

"No."

"Really?"

"What I want will take more than a wish."

"What do you mean?"

He looked down at her. "Everything I want, I have to survive the war to get. I'm not sure if wishes on shooting stars work on that sort of thing."

She made that odd noise that was just slightly too high-pitched to be a chuckle, and looked up at him. "Everything?"

He knew what she meant. "I'd like to know you for a lot longer than I have."

She snuggled a lot closer with that. "That makes sense. I think the same about you."


	19. Interlude: March to the Naggiar

_The march to the Naggiar was one of the most complicated maneuvers the Gallian army engaged in during the entire war, largely because it was the largest concentration of forces that the army ever managed to achieve. As a result, much thought and effort went into ensuring that multiple units were not assigned to move down the same roads at the same time, or assigned to occupy the same areas on the line or in camp._

 _While these efforts certainly helped alleviate the inevitable problems, they did not completely prevent them, and the soldiers still had to get there on foot…_

Excerpted with permission from _A History of the Second Europan War_ , William Hackett; University of Chimay; 1968

Fifteen miles.

That was how far it was from where Heinrich Lannes stood, on the last hilltop before the Naggiar Plains began, to the front line—or so Kanawa had said, and Lannes had little reason to doubt him.

It was honestly awe-inspiring. There was a city's worth of soldiers down there—he'd heard that, once all the forces for this battle gathered, there would be over a hundred thousand Gallians on the field, a force thrice the size of any they'd gathered before.

The Imps, though—no one knew how many troops they had. He'd heard rumors that the analysts had figured out that Maximilian had crossed the border with over a hundred and fifty thousand men, and given that he'd attacked with the equivalent of three corps, this made a certain amount of sense.

Now, if one went by the official numbers released by the various governments, either those men had been killed, captured, or otherwise incapacitated twice over the past four months, or they'd taken hardly any casualties at all.

Given what Lannes himself had seen, either seemed unlikely—especially since, before they left Bruhl, he'd talked with a very disgruntled Imp officer. Apparently, the only reason their squads were at full strength was because they'd taken to amalgamating squads that had taken heavy losses together. The number of replacements they were getting would have barely been enough to sustain a relatively quiet front, much less one with the sort of pitched battles happening in Gallia.

The officer hadn't had an explanation for why this was the case, but Lannes hoped it meant the Feds were hurting the Imps badly down south. Whatever the reason was, though, he wasn't going to complain about it.

Now, he could and would complain about the fact that the 3rd Brigade had been shoved off the road to make room for the still-passing supply convoy, which had been going by for fifteen minutes, and looked to be going for another five or ten at least.

He turned when he heard someone trudging up behind him from where the squad was taking advantage of the break, and saw that it was Traherne. He was about to make a remark about the ammunition getting to the battlefield before the soldiers who'd fire it, but saw the expression on the older man's face and decided to say nothing. Instead, he turned around and looked at the Naggiar again.

Traherne came up beside him and stood for about fifteen seconds before breaking the silence.

"Brings back memories," he said softly, and Lannes turned to look at the sergeant.

"What was it like?" he asked quietly—he didn't need to ask what the memories were of. He'd heard enough from his father about that.

"Bad. I've told you and the others who weren't there about some of it, but not the worst of it." He paused, sighed, and continued, in a tone that said he was remembering things he'd rather forget. "The artillery was constantly firing. Ranging shots, harassing fire, full-scale bombardments. Always wondering if this would be the night the Imps pulled a trench raid. When it rained, the trench bottoms would sometimes be knee-deep mud. And then the gas—there's not a single soldier who fought in those trenches who wants to see that stuff again. And then the fact that we were just stuck in the same place for months on end…"

He shook his head. "I never wanted to come back here."

"I don't think we'll be here quite that long," Lannes replied.

"Even so, sir. No one who was here would even want to pass through on the way to somewhere else."

That said a lot about the morale of the EWI veterans, and none of it good, but Lannes' train of thought was interrupted when his radio crackled. "All lieutenants, report to the regimental command trucks."

"Understood, ma'am. I'll be there momentarily." He looked at Traherne. "I'm not sure what this could be about, so be ready for anything when I get back."

"Understood, sir. We'll all be ready for whatever comes."

That, Lannes thought as he walked away, was a sentence with multiple layers of meaning if ever there was one.

As he went up the hill, he saw the other lieutenants leaving their squads and moving towards the regimental headquarters, which was presently packed into several trucks that the soldiers walked alongside.

For a brief moment, he thought wistfully of the idea of an army carried entirely by truck or APC, at least until it got within artillery range, and sighed. He doubted the militia would get that sort of thing, not unless the war took much longer than anyone wanted it to.

Well, there were _some_ people who really enjoyed the fighting and the killing. Lannes had figured out that he enjoyed the surviving.

He smiled. He'd have to thank Julia for that.

As he got closer to where the others were gathering, he noticed that Varrot looked annoyed, which was new—she was usually either pleased, calm, or barely suppressing her anger, with precious few visible emotions besides.

He wondered what had happened to cause this.

A minute later, after Enjolras finally arrived, he heard why.

"We were given the wrong road," she said tiredly. "We were supposed to go down the one three miles to the west."

"So what are we doing now?" Falder asked.

"We're not going back. We're going to wait until everyone who was supposed to go by this road gets by, and then we'll march to our staging area."

"Our staging area, ma'am?" Landzaat asked, and Lannes nodded. Did that mean…?

"They're sending us in tomorrow," Varrot revealed.

That was _stupid._ When you went up against prepared positions like this, you scouted out the defenses, took careful note of the ground, made arrangements for concentrated artillery bombardment—you didn't just throw people at them.

"Are you sure about this, Captain?" Wilders asked, and Varrot nodded.

"These orders come straight from the top. The colonel doesn't like them either, but that's what they are." Varrot grimaced. "He tried to talk them out of it. Apparently he was told that giving us time to prepare would give the Imps time to prepare, that they were on the verge of breaking anyway, and that further protests would be taken as evidence of a lack of offensive spirit."

Lannes blinked. He really hoped that Colonel Schneider had been exaggerating, because that was the kind of nonsense even a rookie lieutenant knew tended to get people killed.

Given how close to reality Damon had demonstrated himself to be so far, though, he wouldn't put it past him.

"But enough of that," Varrot said. "We have orders, and we'll follow them. It'll be an hour or two before the last group passes by, and then we'll move out. HQ will tell us when it's time to go. When we get to the staging area, everything will be marked out." Her mouth quirked in what might have been a smile. "Colonel Schneider's sending the field kitchen up ahead—hopefully supper will be ready when we get there."

That was a relief. The staging area was probably ten miles away, and they'd be lucky to make it before dark. He really didn't want to think about how late it would be before the troops went to bed.

* * *

The lieutenants all gathered, that night, once their troops were fed and starting to drift off to sleep, even with the trenchline only five miles away. Even Gunther and Landzaat came, though it had taken some persuading.

Heinrich looked around at the gathering. It wasn't a band of brothers—and sisters, he thought, remembering Wilders and Falder—exactly, but he was glad to have fought with them, these past few months.

"Gentlemen, ladies," Berthelmy rumbled quietly once they all arrived, "It has occurred to me that tomorrow may be a day when we die."

They all nodded at that. Technically, that had been true every time they went into battle—but these conditions made it much more likely than it had ever been.

"I've been carrying this bottle of genever around for some time, now," he said, pulling the item out of his coat pocket.

Heinrich whistled. That wasn't rotgut, that was the good stuff. It also looked like a small bottle, which was good.

"I'd been looking for a special occasion to share it, and now seemed like a better time than most. Will you join me, and let us have this drink together?"

It was a good thing that drinking cups were considered as much part of the Gallian uniform as the shirt, Heinrich thought, as drinking from the bottle might have meant that somebody got shorted. As matters stood, soon the pouring was done.

"My fellow officers," Berthelmy said quietly, "it has been an honor, and if I had to fight this war again, I could think of no others I would rather do it with. To victory."

"To victory," they all said in unison, and drank deeply.

The juniper fire ran smooth, and Heinrich thought that Berthelmy had chosen well, both in terms of maker and how much to bring. They really didn't need to be drunk or hungover tomorrow, and he took a moment to look at all of them, and fix the moment in his mind. Then he felt a sudden pang as he remembered that Nowicky wasn't with them, and raised a toast in his mind to the man. Hopefully he was watching from Valhal.

All too quickly, the genever was finished, and it was time for everyone to return to their squads.

Well, most of them were, anyway. Wilders and Landzaat were walking off together, for somewhat obvious reasons. He was a bit surprised that it had lasted longer than that night in Randgriz, but they'd hit it off fairly well.

Not that it mattered to him—well, aside from whether it might cause either of the two to do something stupid tomorrow—but it did remind him of the fact that he hadn't gotten the chance to talk to Julia today, and probably wouldn't get the chance tomorrow.

Was that a good idea, though?

Yes.

Yes it was. There were some chances a man didn't need to take, and he turned in the direction of the field kitchen, figuring that it wouldn't be hard to find his way back to the squad. Then again, there was the possibility that they were busy or just plain tired…

"Heinrich?"

"Julia!" he exclaimed softly. "I wasn't expecting to see you out here."

"We got finished cleaning everything ten minutes ago," she explained. "I thought I'd come find you."

"Well, you did," he responded, trying to figure out where to take this from here. What did you say when you were about to go into battle under orders that seemed designed to get you killed? On the other hand, she didn't seem to know what to say, either, so it was up to him.

"Do you want to sit and just…talk? About anything but tomorrow?"

"That seems appropriate," she said quietly. "I'd suggest the future, but I don't think anything's changed since Bruhl. How about the past?"

"That works," he replied as they sat. "What do you want to know?"

"You've never said much about your family. Why?"

He shrugged. "It just never came up, and there's not much to tell. My parents are both still alive, I have a younger sister who's my only sibling, there's nothing really strange about any of them, and I don't see any of the extended family more than once a year." He paused. "Come to think of it, you've never mentioned yours."

She sighed. "I was an only child, and my parents died in a train wreck four years ago, when I was nineteen."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"No, it's fine, if I wasn't willing to talk about it I wouldn't have brought it up." She grimaced. "I was luckier than a lot of other girls. Da was a real saver and taught me to actually make my own decisions, and with a little scrimping I was able to go to clerking school."

Heinrich nodded. That was honestly the best available option for someone like Julia—the sad thing was that it was only her father's foresight had allowed for it.

"And I'm like you—I've barely even met my extended family." She sighed again. "So that's why."

The reminder of death hovered over them until Julia shook her head and said, "Enough of that. What's your hometown like, just so I'm not surprised when we go there?"

Heinrich grinned. That "when" was like music to his ears. "Well, it's not even as large as Ghirlandaio town, but it's definitely larger than Bruhl…"

And they talked on for nearly an hour, trying to avoid anything that would remind them of what was coming that next day. But it had been a long day, it would be a long day tomorrow, and Heinrich knew that he needed sleep.

So, after a particularly good story involving a trouble-prone typewriter, ink, and a fancy dress worn by the most snobbish girl in the school, he looked at her and said, "I have to go."

"Yes, you do," she said softly, leaned in and kissed him in the same way, and then turned and walked back towards where the field kitchen was set up.

He didn't watch her go for long, but went back to where his squad was sleeping. They were his only priority, now.


	20. In the Trenches

_The Naggiar Plains were the most famous battleground of EWI. It was there that Roald Kankunen had managed to halt the Imperial offensive aimed at seizing Gallia's ragnite by cutting off two divisions who tried to push south with two brigades of horse cavalry. It was there that the armies sat for three long years, as constant ragnite explosions poisoned the ground and made it so that the only thing that could live there was man. It was there that Belgen Gunther deployed tanks en masse, and led them in a mechanized cavalry charge that broke the Imperial army and forced them from his homeland. It was there, then, that Prince Maximillian, army half wrecked by the Gallian counteroffensive, superior only in tanks and rocket artillery, as well as his possession of a Valkyria, decided to make his stand. And it was there that General Damon, against everyone's advice but Chancellor Borg's, committed the entirety of the Gallian Army._

Excerpt from _Lions Led by a Donkey: the Gallian Army in EWII_ , Alan Clarke, University of Chimay, 1969.

No one in the brigade—which, Lannes had discovered, was the 3rd Brigade—was happy. Even the soldiers who looked forward to battle weren't happy. There were several reasons for this.

First, they knew the battle plan had been personally drawn up by Damon. His opinions of what glorious victories looked like were well known, and it was a plan that, from what he could tell, was designed to create as many heroes as possible. Any good soldier, one of his instructors at the Academy had told him, tried to minimize that, because heroes meant that somebody had made a mistake.

Second, there were rumors that the Imperial Valkyria, Selvaria Bles, last seen in the Barious Desert, was here at the Naggiar. Everyone had heard the story—though it was forbidden to tell it—of how she had deflected a shell from the _Edelweiss_ , and walked off with nary a scratch. That was not the sort of thing that was good for morale.

Third, no one wanted to be here. Not on the Naggiar. Those who hadn't been there had heard from their parents and uncles and aunts about the Naggiar, and regarded it as a land of nightmares. Those who had been there regarded it as hell. They would stand and fight, but it was only pure grim determination and the refusal to let down their comrades that would keep them at the front.

Fourth, and least importantly, they were stuck in the old trenches, facing the Empire across a barren moonscape, where whenever the wind blew a fine layer of dust was deposited on all surfaces, and the sun hadn't come out in days.

It was, in other words, a terrible place to be or fight. And Damon, instead of doing the sensible thing and leaving enough troops to pin the Imps in place while ordering the rest on a flanking maneuver to attack their supply line and force Maximilian out of the trenches or to surrender, was going for a full frontal assault.

Lannes was ready to commit fratricide, but instead, he was looking through his old binoculars at the trenchline in front of him, and was not pleased with what he saw. The Imps had set up in a double line of the old trenches, there were multiple bunkers, and it looked like there was a second line of defenses on top of a short escarpment.

By itself, that wouldn't have been so bad. Unfortunately, there were also a couple of heavy tanks, the forward observation post in the back of the first line of trenches called down rocket fire that could sweep the entire space between the lines, and it looked like there was only one way up the escarpment. Furthermore, the trenches were wide enough that the tanks couldn't cross them.

Also, to make matters worse, the Imps knew they were coming. In other words, everything was against them.

Lannes suppressed, once again, the urge to go AWOL, find Damon, and unload a full magazine into his gut, and turned back around to look at the noncoms. They all looked like how he felt—they knew as well as he did just how bad of a position they'd been put in. But they also intended to kick the Imps straight to Hel.

"Our orders are to get up the escarpment so we can cover Squad 7 and keep the Imps from counterattacking them." He looked around.

"To do that, we'll have to cross the space between the trenches, which is swept by rocket fire at least once a minute. It looks like it'll take some time to make to the other lines. Then we have to take out the bunkers, clear the trenchline and their forward observers, _then_ find a way up to the top of the slope. Thoughts?"

"First part won't be too hard, sir," Traherne replied. "Plenty of shell craters we can use as cover."

Yancey nodded. "Also, we did some training on trench-clearing. We should be able to clear it out pretty fast."

Friedrich cleared his throat. "As to getting the tanks across the trenches, Gregory, Ike, and I have an idea for that. We'll use some large ragnite charges detonated by lances to create ramps out of the trenches."

"Will it work?"

He nodded. "We've tested it out, and we've got the charges made up."

"Good. We're attacking this afternoon. Do you think we could use that to get the tanks up the slope?"

Friedrich shrugged. "Probably, if we have enough explosives."

"Try to scrounge up some if you don't. If we can get the tanks up there, we'll win for certain. Anything else?"

No one spoke.

"Right. Here's the plan." He squatted down in the dirt and started to draw. "Two bunkers, here and here. This one with a cannon, this one with a gatling." He tapped the space in front of the gatling bunker. "Traherne, your team keeps the Imps in play here. Don't attack until the bunker goes down and the rockets stop firing."

The scout nodded.

"Friedrich. Your team covers the part of the trench near the cannon bunker. Move forward when the rockets stop firing. Take up defensive positions in the Imps' trenches. There'll be a counterattack."

The Darcsen nodded. "We'll hold."

"Yancey, Rogers. You'll push into the area around the cannon bunker. I'll be with you. We'll take out the bunker here. Rogers, you'll stay there and hold until Friedrich relieves you. When he does, get over to the gatling bunker and take it out from behind, then set to work getting the tanks a way out of the trenches. Yancey, we'll push forward and take the forward observation post."

He tapped the side of the little dirt map. "We're covering Gunther's attack. He's got the main objective for the regiment, a base camp in this area. Once we take out their FO, he's going to attack. That's why you'll be able to move forward, Sergeant."

"Are we going to have heavy weapons attached again, sir?"

Lannes shook his head. "They're getting deployed on the left, with Kanawa. Captain thinks we can anticipate a counterattack from that direction. Intel says we're just to the right of their heaviest force—and it's open ground there, not like this broken-up section. Damon's throwing two regiments of regulars into that fight."

"What about us, sir?" Crichton asked.

"Those rockets'll hit you pretty hard. You're not moving forward until they're out of the way. Once they are, though, make your way to where Rogers will be waiting with the charges."

"Is the rest of the brigade attacking?"

Lannes shook his head. "The Vasel battalion's attacking as soon as we have a foothold. The rest are in reserve. Any other questions?"

The noncoms were silent.

"Right." He looked at them for a moment. "I know this operation seems like it was slapped together at the last minute. That's because it was. But it doesn't matter. We're going to get into those trenches, we're going to kill some Imps, and we are going to salvage this utter wreck of a plan that we've been forced into. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," came a six-voice chorus.

"Right. Get to your teams and tanks. We're moving to our jump-off positions in an hour."

As they dispersed, he turned when he heard an unfamiliar voice calling his name, and saw a regular army corporal running towards him.

"What's going on, corporal?" he asked.

"Major Ritterbach's compliments, sir. He wants to talk with you about the attack."

"Where is he?"

"Right over there, sir," the noncom replied, pointing to a stand of rocks. "He wanted you to come back with me."

"Sounds good to me," Lannes said, and started walking. "Did he say what it was about?"

"No sir. Just that it was vital."

That was odd. What was it that Ritterbach needed to tell him that was so important and secret?

When he arrived at the rocks, he noticed the major looked extremely agitated, and that he dismissed the corporal very abruptly.

Then the other officer spoke, and he understood why.

"We've been given orders to betray you," he said flatly.

" _What?_ "

"They came straight from the top. Not in so many words, you understand, but we were ordered not to advance if certain events occurred. Events," he said as his eyes bored into Lannes's, "that will almost certainly happen."

His mind reeled. The implications were staggering. " _Why?_ "

Ritterbach shook his head. "I don't know. But the word came straight from the top, or at least that's what Colonel Schneider told me. He also mentioned that he was specifically ordered _not_ to tell anyone besides me." He paused. "He passed no such orders on, and seemed utterly disgusted by the whole thing, so I think he wanted me to tell somebody."

Lannes's brain finally shifted into gear. "Why are you telling me and not Varrot?"

"Because the last thing she needs is to be informed that Damon just did his level best to stick a knife in her back!" the regular snapped, then took a deep breath. "Also, I think you can figure out how to keep those conditions from happening."

"What are the conditions?"

Ritterbach told him, and he winced. "That's not going to be easy," he said flatly. "Getting up that escarpment in five minutes from the time we go over the top is going to be well-nigh impossible. But we'll do it or die trying."

"Thank you. It would be…difficult, to stand under orders and watch my countrymen die because a fat pig wanted to settle a grudge."

Lannes blinked. That was more forthright than he expected from a regular.

The other man must have noticed his surprise, because he chuckled. "Damon's supporters are almost all staff officers and civilians, not line soldiers. We know the price of his…ambitions," he explained quietly.

That explained that. But it was time to go.

"I need to get back to my squad," he said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Good luck out there."

"Same," he replied, and started walking back to his troops. It was a good thing that it was a few minutes' walk—he'd need the time to figure out how he was going to tell everyone that they now had a time limit on how fast they could take the trenches.

Valkyrur damn that pusillanimous incompetent to Hel!

* * *

Lannes crouched in a trench, Yancey to his right, Rogers, hefting his mortar lance like it was a rifle, to his left.

The plan hadn't needed too much reworking—he liked moving quickly—but seconds mattered, now, and if he hadn't been working with these people for months he'd've already sent the two letters that he'd written in case he died. One was to his family, the other to Julia.

He'd never really felt the need for those before they came here.

"You two ready?" he asked.

"Yes sir," Rogers replied.

"Ready to get this done, sir," Yancey said with a fierce grin.

"Good." He switched on the radio. "Crichton, Gregory?"

"Give the word, sir," the sergeant replied over the radio.

"We're ready, sir," the corporal said immediately afterwards.

"Excellent. Fire…" A rocket volley swept the area between them and the Imperial trenches. As the last explosion echoed, he finished, with a " _Now._ "

The tanks couldn't get out into no-man's-land, but they _could_ provide fire support, and the snipers had noticed a few Imp scouts skulking in some of the shellholes. Only one of them was close enough to where they were attacking to cause any trouble, but still. Also, he didn't want any Imp shocktroopers in the trench ahead to be in shape to fire at them while they were in the open.

So _Briar_ lofted a round into the shellhole, _Thistle_ landed a round in the trench, and Lannes exploded out of their trench, the rest of the assault force at his heels.

They had forty-five seconds to cross no-man's-land before the rockets landed. He'd been blunt with them. "It's run or die," he'd said giving the final briefing. "Anyone trips, you leave them—Fina's going to be right behind Friedrich's team, and if we don't take out that FO post in time for her to work her magic we're all dead anyway."

The troops had understood, but he really hoped that their resolve—and his—wouldn't be put to the test.

But they were coming onto the trench, now. An Imp shocktrooper attempted to fire but dropped from a sniper shot, as did another half a second later, and he was within flamethrower range, as was Yancey.

They stopped and let fly nearly simultaneously, and the surviving Imps shrieked as the blue flames came for them and Rogers fired a mortar round into one of the communications trenches, blowing away two shocktroopers who'd come to reinforce the section.

Lannes didn't stop to let the flames die down—he didn't know how many seconds they had, but he knew it was barely in the double digits, if that long. Instead, he went pell-mell into the trench, trusting his armor to keep the flame from burning him, the rest following him, still making sure to keep the entrances to the bastion covered.

Two seconds after the last Gallian jumped into the trench, the next rocket volley landed.

Four minutes, fifteen seconds.

"You know your targets," he yelled. " _Move!_ "

They went. Rogers and his team to the left, Lannes with Yancey and her team to the right. The trench was clear, but he knew that wouldn't last long.

It didn't. He and Yancey turned the corner and ran into two Imp shocktroopers and two lancers.

At that range, there was but one option, and they burned their opposition out of the way.

As the screams died down, the Gallians charged forward over the smoking bodies, the FO post in sight and the way clear. The scouts and engineers paused to fire their rifle grenades into the intersecting trench, several Imps flying into the air demonstrating that it was not wasted effort, while an explosion from behind and to their left said that Rogers had taken out the cannon bunker, and Lannes, Yancey, and Yancey's shocktroopers plowed into the FO post, gunning down the observers as they clawed for their pistols.

At least he hoped they'd been going for their pistols, but there was no time to think about that, and he lifted the flare gun he'd borrowed from Gunther and fired it skyward as what was hopefully the last rocket volley landed.

Three minutes, thirty seconds.

The sound of the demolition charges going off cut through the landing of the last few rockets, and Lannes smiled. Rogers had been told not detonate them until the tanks started moving forward.

He just hoped they'd got the placement right. And that the rockets weren't going to land again. Then he heard an explosion from behind and to his right, and grinned. That had been the gatling bunker, and Traherne's team should be moving forward soon enough.

Hopefully. And hopefully Crichton and Gregory wouldn't get bogged down. Meanwhile, he sat tight and waited as the seconds ticked on. The force at the top of the rise was large enough that throwing just Yancey's team at it would be pure foolishness—in fact, he wasn't sure of the their chances with Yancey _and_ Rogers, although the tanks would make it a sure thing.

Crichton's voice crackled distantly over the radio. "Sir, I hope you can hear this. Imps are putting together a counterattack. I'm leaving Gregory with Friedrich."

Lannes cursed. The old tank sergeant was making the right decision, but it was going to hurt them.

Oh well. He hadn't _counted_ on having both tanks with the final assault force—the thought cut off when he heard movement from both sides of the FO post and swept around to cover the entrances with his MAG, only to lower it when he saw it was Rogers and Traherne coming up to reinforce. He then heard the sounds of firing to the southeast as Squad 7 began their attack.

They needed to get up to the top soon.

"Traherne, keep your team here and cover our backs. Yancey, Rogers, get your teams ready. We're moving as soon as Crichton's in place."

"In place, sir," he heard the man say over the radio, and he looked at his watch. Two minutes, ten seconds.

"We're moving now. Crichton, fire."

Two seconds later, the position they'd identified as the linchpin of the defense from observing from the hills on the other side exploded as Crichton put a mortar round in it, and Lannes yelled, "Follow me!" as he leaped up and ran up the stairs, MAG at the ready.

It wasn't quite necessary, as it turned out—the only Imp still on his feet was a lancer.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

He took a brief moment to examine the situation. Everything was as they'd thought it would be, as near as he could tell. The Imps had started prepping for a counterattack, but they'd moved too slow, and though they had a heavy tank and an assault squad up there behind the dogleg, it wasn't going to be enough to stop the attack.

Not if he had anything to say about it. And he did.

The Imp scouts stationed in the bend were starting to fire, and the tank's turret was starting to swivel. So he ran forward, the shocktroopers and lancers following at his heels, and prayed to whoever was listening that the rifle grenades would land where they needed to as he heard a series of muffled CHOONKs behind him.

A second later, fourteen rifle grenades went off in the trench ahead of them, Imp troops went flying, and Lannes turned the bend and found himself staring down a machine-gun barrel less than ten feet away from him.

Apparently the tank had been closer to the side of the trench than he'd thought, and he threw himself past the thing before the (presumably) stunned occupants had time to recover. He stumbled and fell as he cleared the tank, and rolled against that side of the trench to see a lance pointed directly at him, and he was trying to bring his MAG to bear but it was caught on something and he could see the Imp pulling the trigger…

Then his head snapped to the side, a MAG burst hammered into it, and as he fell his finger finished tightening. The lance fired, and Lannes slammed his eyes shut and felt a wave of heat and pressure wash over him. When he opened them again, the tank was a burnt-out wreck, and he realized that the lance round must have hit the radiator.

But there was no time for thinking about that. They had another fifty meters to go in less than two minutes, but just as he staggered to his feet the rest of the assault force, Yancey and Rogers in the lead, charged past him.

Well, it was good they'd listened, anyway, and he ran after them.

He heard a few brief bursts of fire, a couple of explosions, and ran into the Imp CP just as his troops were pulling down the defender's flag and raising theirs.

He looked at his watch. One minute, fifteen seconds. Then he began to wonder, briefly, if perhaps Ritterbach had not been entirely straight with him.

Then mass firing broke out from behind and to their left, and Lannes ran to where he could see what was happening, yelling "Rogers, stay here, Yancey, with me!"

When he poked his head out of the trench, he saw two things. First, he saw Ritterbach's men swarming forward over no man's land. Second, he saw the Imp reserves moving forward—straight for him. Well, some of them were peeling off to hit Ritterbach, but he still had two assault squads headed his way.

He took a moment to look at that force, and nodded. Yes, they were splitting up, as anticipated, but, wait, shouldn't that squad be headed towards him?

Then he realized that he hadn't heard any firing from where Freidrich and _Briar_ had dug in, and he turned and looked back at those trenches. There the tank sat, the Gallian infantry dug in around it, and he grinned as he saw only Imp bodies lying scattered about the area, no troopers still on their feet.

Then the radio crackled.

"Sir, I'm putting _Thistle_ next to the escarpment," Crichton said. "We should be able to hold then off."

"Agreed," Lannes replied. "Hopefully Gunther's boys and girls will link up with Traherne and let him get up here soon. Speaking of which, I haven't heard any rockets from that quarter lately…"

"Lieutenant Lannes!" Varrot's voice broke in over the radio. "The Imperial Valkyria's here. She took out both of Damon's regiments…" Lannes cursed. "…And now she's heading for us. It looks like she's attacking Squad 7, though. Just hold on!"

"Yes ma'am," Lannes replied, thinking quickly. "How long can they hold her?"

"I don't know, Lieutenant. Gunther thinks they can stall her by hitting her with tank rounds, but that's about it."

"Understood. We'll hold. Lannes out." He took a quick look to see how Ritterbach's men were doing, and nodded. They were stuck in the trenches, but they'd make it through. Now he just had to make sure no one rammed an assault squad into the Sevens while they took the main objective and dealt with a Valkyria.

That part, however, he wasn't worried about.

He was right. The Imps' decision to split their force twice turned out to be their downfall—the snipers brought down the lancers before they got within sight of _Briar_ or _Thistle_ , the tank's mortar rounds brought down the shocktroopers, and the scouts and snipers were cut down by his scouts' rifles. Meanwhile, the engineers had gotten their heads together, and Kat, Ivor, and van Reenan had figured out just where and how to set the charges to set up a ramp onto the escarpment—and, as they did, Lannes heard on the radio that Gunther had taken the camp and that the Valkyria has retreated.

As the engineers blew the charges to make the ramp so the tanks could crawl up to the rest of the squad, Lannes looked over and saw that Ritterbach's battalion had taken their objectives, and the Gallian flag waved proudly over the field.

He then heard Yancey say, "Sergeant Traherne, Corporal Friedrich. Good to see you," and turned to see those two worthies coming forward, along with their teams.

"Gunther and Ritterbach finally linked up with you?"

Traherne nodded, as did Friedrich before he added, "It took them some time."

"Well, you're here. Pretty soon the tanks'll be up here, and then they're never prying us out of this place," he said with a wave at where _Thistle_ was just starting to come into sight.

"I hope so, sir," Traherne replied. "That Valkyria's scary. I don't know why she retreated—Squad 7 barely held her off."

Lannes shrugged. "Who knows? But she can only be at one place at one time, and hopefully she'll find somewhere else to be. Now…"

His radio crackled, and Varrot spoke, her voice heavy. "Lieutenant, we have a slight problem."

"What is it, Captain?"

"Sergeant Melchiott's been shot."

Well, that meant Gunther wasn't going to be particularly functional when it came time to attack or defend. This wasn't good.

"Hold in place until relieved—follow-on forces will be here in the next hour."

"Yes, ma'am," Lannes replied, and absorbed the implications of that order. None of them were good—especially with that Imp Valkyria running around.

But his squad was still alive. For now, that was victory enough.


	21. Unexpected Aid

_By the second day of the Battle of the Naggiar, it was evident that Damon's plan was failing. Gallian casualties were higher than Imperial ones, and only partially due to the presence of Selvaria Bles. Everyone except him knew that something had to change, and even some of his strongest supporters were beginning to consider removing him from command._

 _Then help arrived from an unexpected quarter…_

Excerpted with permission from _A History of the Second Europan War_ , William Hackett; University of Chimay; 1968

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes knew he was going to die, and had accepted it.

At the end of the first day of battle, he had thought that, perhaps, even with Damon's stupidity and a Valkyria against them, they might be able to pull it off.

There was no sign of that happening, though. There was no official word, of course, but the news had slowly filtered through the noncom telegraph. The 3rd Brigade had been one of the most successful units the day before, and no one had surpassed them—and most of their rivals had taken heavy infantry and equipment losses in the doing. Also, the Imps had introduced some kind of new monster tank, one that fired incendiary rounds from a giant mortar.

These things in and of themselves would not have been enough to convince him that he was going to die, though.

No, what had him convinced he was going to die was that he was standing out in the open, along with the rest of the brigade, in position to attack the Valkyria head-on. Damon's orders, of course, at least according to Colonel Schneider.

He looked at his squad. What was there to do?

Fight. They couldn't win, but they could fight.

"Squad Two," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear him, and he cursed the fact that their orders had them bunched up like this. But that did make this part easier.

"We've fought well together," he said, looking around at them, "and we're one of the best squads in the best regiment of the whole army." He paused. "I've never lied to you, and I won't start today. Barring a miracle, we will all die today, either by the Valkyria's lance or Imperial bullets. _Understand that._ Your purpose is to kill as many Imps as you can before you fall. If your escorts to Valhal do not include at least two men you kill this day, I will be extremely disappointed."

There were some very grim chuckles at that, and he wondered why he was telling jokes _now,_ of all times. Probably because, unlike all the other times, they could not win this one, and he needed to distract everyone, including himself, from it.

"The moment we begin the attack, disperse. I don't want anyone directly behind anyone else, especially not from the perspective of that Valkyria. If she targets us, I want her to need at least twenty shots to kill us all. Get mixed up with the Imps—if you can do that, maybe she won't be willing to kill us and her own.

"We will not live to see Gallia triumph. All we can do is try to kill enough of them that others might—"

"LISTEN TO ME, GALLIA!" a great voice cried out, and he turned to see who was speaking. There she was, the Imperial Valkyria, wreathed in blue flame.

"CAST ASIDE YOUR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER! IF YOU DO NOT, NAGGIAR'S PLAINS WILL DRINK DEEPLY OF YOUR BLOOD!"

As the Imps cheered, the men at the front, Ritterbach's battalion, looked frightened enough to run, and he didn't blame them. Even his men looked a little worried—but then Traherne tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sir," he said softly, "there's something you need to see."

"What is it, Sergeant?" he asked, somewhat querously, as he turned around—and had to clench his jaw to keep it from dropping. There was another figure, blue flames burning bright upon her, walking through the Gallian lines, dressed in a scout's uniform and wearing…was that…

"It's Sergeant Melchiott, sir," Traherne said, his voice a mixture of wonder and fright. "Did you know that she's a Valkyria, sir?"

"No, Sergeant," Lannes replied, suddenly thinking that he and his squad might not die this day. "I don't think anyone did, including," he added as he saw that she was staggering forward, not striding confidently into battle, though the Gallians parted for her all the same, "Sergeant Melchiott."

A thought occurred to him. _Gunther cannot be taking this well._

She staggered past Ritterbach's men, coming to a halt some distance in front of them, taking a stance that seemed to say "If you want them, you must come through me."

"GET OUT," the Imperial Valkyria screamed as she leapt forward, and he could almost hear every soldier who could see what was happening hold their breath as she charged faster than a galloping horse. Melchiott couldn't possibly withstand that charge, Lannes thought, and he wondered if the Gallians would rout the instant she died or if it would take a few moments to sink in as the Imp Valkyria made a running jump and slashed her lance down with such force that it would surely ram the sergeant's head into her body, if she still had either.

But she side-stepped, nearly imperceptibly from this distance, and the blow crashed into the dirt.

The Imp seemed almost as shocked as he was, and paused for a moment before erupting to her feet, sweeping the lance up in an effort to shatter the sergeant's torso, and she jumped and flipped _over_ her attacker.

He wasn't going to complain, but he'd taken Unarmed Combat Training. They did _not_ teach those moves there. Was she…possessed, somehow, by a Valkyria?

But that didn't matter right now, because there she was, standing, lance held diagonally across her body, shield in front, as her counterpart charged her again, and her lance almost seemed to _lengthen_ before she blocked the Imp's attack.

They stood there for a moment, frozen, before the Imp flew back, managing to come to her feet before she stopped sliding through the dirt.

This was no battle that normal soldiers could fight, Lannes thought, and he had the odd thought that Landzaat had better be watching this. This was the first time that two Valkyrur had fought each other in centuries, the sort of thing any historian would kill to see for himself.

The Imp charged again, this time slamming her lance into the dirt to send a wave of blue flame towards Melchiott—was she still Sergeant Melchiott of the 3rd Militia, under the flame? He hoped so—that would have wrecked her if it had connected.

It did not, for she leapt upwards again, and as she came back down to the ground, spinning around as she fell, she almost seemed to stop in midair as she fired a beam of blue fire at the Imp, who had taken a position similar to the one the sergeant had just held.

Time seemed to stand still.

The Imp withstood it.

But then she didn't, and flew backwards, dropping lance and shield as she crashed into the dirt, tried to rise, and failed.

Melchiott turned towards the Imps.

Pointed her lance.

Fired.

And half an Imp squad was blown straight to Hel.

Lannes' lips skinned back from his teeth.

He wasn't going to die, his soldiers weren't going to die, and Gallia was going to _win_ , despite Damon's best efforts.

"Lieutenant!"

"Captain," he replied into the radio, still looking at where Sergeant Melchiott was firing beams of blue light into the Imp lines and they were starting to panic and run. "Do we attack, or do we wait until the Sergeant stops throwing the Imps around like rag dolls?"

"We're attacking. Major Ritterbach has agreed to let us through his battalion. I'm moving Squad 7 to just behind the Sergeant. I need you to cover Gunther's left flank."

"When do you want us to move?"

"As soon as you can."

"Yes ma'am," he replied. "What's the objective?"

"Their base camp on Fielding's Hill, Lieutenant. If we can take that, we'll certainly win."

"Yes ma'am." A thought occurred to him. "Captain, if I may, how's Lieutenant Gunther handling this?"

"As well as can be expected. I ordered him to follow Sergeant Melchiott, who seems to be focused on taking that hill."

Lannes looked at the blue-outlined figure, who didn't even seem to notice the Imps attempting to kill her. "Understood, ma'am. Cover Gunther's flank while he follows a legend out of the past come back to save us all."

"Good. Start moving forward as soon as you can. The rest of the regiment will follow, but we're going to be disorganized. Varrot out."

Lannes took a moment to look at his squad, and decided to open with a joke. After all, they _weren't_ going to die today. That was worth celebrating.

"As you can see, the situation has changed." The chuckles he got from that were not grim in the least.

"So here's what we're going to do. Standard two-line formation, tanks in the center. We're going to be backing Gunther up and making sure anyone trying to flank him gets hammered."

"Do you think they'll actually try that, sir?" Yancey asked.

Traherne spoke before he could. "Imps'll have some reserves didn't see their pet monster get thrown around like she was nothing. They'll attack, and it won't take long for those Imps running right now to come back to the fight."

"Exactly, Sergeant," Lannes said, "so we need to move now. Stay sharp, check your intervals, and we should get through this just like always."

"Think the Imps'll bring in those new super-heavies, sir?" Friedrich asked.

"If they do," Lannes replied, "we'll blow them apart. We'll just need to be that much more careful. Any other questions?"

No one said anything.

"Right. Let's _move._ "

They went, Lannes scrambling to get on top of _Thistle_. Once he was there he took a moment to take out his binoculars—noting that he needed to return that flare gun to Gunther—and take a look at the 3rd Militia's objective—which was easier than usual, since there were no trees or houses in the way.

He wasn't enthused. On his side, it looked like the hill had two levels to it, the lower one of which was the one the Imp's had put their camp on—and was the one where soldiers and takes could get from one side of the hill to the other. However, that higher ridge looked to be inaccessible from the camp itself, and if the Imps hadn't put some troops up there—or didn't have some troops moving there—he'd eat his officer's cap.

Well, he would if he hadn't lost it back in the Barious desert. Varrot hadn't said anything to him about it, and until she did he wasn't going to get another one. He needed to look into getting one of the old slouch hats.

He looked to see if there was another way up—yes, there was, about half a klick down from the camp, slightly to the left of their current course, and there were more than a few Imps running up it. He hoped they wouldn't turn right, because if they did they would become either his or Gunther's problem, but it looked like they were busy running from Sergeant Melchiott.

He turned on his radio. "Squad 2, bear slightly left. We're going to take that higher ridge up there and keep the Imps from hitting Squad 7 from up there. Move!"

They turned just slightly, and soon ran into their first opposition, which wasn't much. Some charismatic Imp officer had managed to drag together a short squad, he wasn't sure how, and set themselves up in some of the old trenches to try and ambush the advancing Gallians.

Unfortunately for them, with Traherne and Friedrich's teams in the lead, concealment was not an option, and a volley of rifle grenades and tank mortar rounds, followed by a few sniper shots, ended that rather quickly. He took a moment to salute the dead Imp officer as the squad passed by—he would have happily fought beside such a man, had he been Gallian.

He took a moment to look over at where Sergeant Melchiott was walking up the hill. It looked like the Imps had set up some kind of final defense line up there, and some of them were staying behind to try and cover the retreat of their fellows. Brave, but foolish. Those bunkers would do about as well against a Valkyria lance as their tanks had, he suspected.

A thought struck him. Was this what had been like, to be in the armies that had swept down on Europa all those centuries ago in the aftermath of the Darcsen catastrophe, overwhelming all who stood before them? And why was he thinking about this _now,_ of all times?

He took another look at where Squad 2 was going and did not like what he saw—or, rather, didn't see. He had no idea what was on the other side of the ridge, and wouldn't until the squad crested the rise. The best-case scenario would be an abandoned trench network covering a fairly narrow approach. The worst-case scenario would be an Imp armored battalion led by some of those super-heavies and a Valkyria.

As it happened, when they finally got onto the higher ridge, neither of those things stood in front of them. Instead, what stood in front of them was a long, open slope that led straight down into an Imperial camp, where it looked like the routing soldiers were disorganizing an Imp counterattack.

A counterattack that, from what he could tell, once it finally got its act together, would see his squad faced with a short battalion of infantry backed by two of those super-heavy tanks.

Lannes quickly looked up towards the top of the ridge to see if there was a more defensible position than this one, and yes, there was, close enough to keep the Imps from just bypassing them.

He turned on his radio.

"Squad 2, move into those rocks and set up defensive positions. Friedrich, take your team further up and make sure there isn't an Imp squad or two up there, then come back down." He switched frequencies. "Captain, we swung up to the higher ridge. Looks like the Imps're patching together a counterattack." He looked behind him. The Gallian forces behind him were a welter of confusion. "Where's the rest of the regiment?"

"The ground was more open on Gunther's right, and the general ordered Ritterbach to hold his men in place, so I sent most of the regiment that way. Kanawa's coming up behind you soon. Can you hold?"

"If I can get first priority on the mortars and Kanawa can get within striking range before the Imps start up their attack, yes."

"You have it. Also, Kanawa's bringing up Fina and her ambulance, along with Sergeant Thompson's Gatling section. He's got the Gatlings riding on his tanks, so they shouldn't slow him down. He's five minutes away."

As Varrot said this, Lannes noticed that _Thistle_ was turning around, and saw that Squad 2 was already starting to dig in among the rocks, and the tanks were settling into positions where their hulls were covered.

"Thank you Captain. Is there anything else I should know?"

"Yes. Gunther's about to attack the hill, and the Imps might speed up their attack. You have to hold, Lieutenant. I'm switching you to Lieutenant Diamant now."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am."

Diamant's mechanical voice came in over the radio as Lannes pulled out his map. "Diamant here. Request fire mission coordinates, over."

"Can you range to coordinates Seven-Eight-Zero-One, Six-Two-Three-Nine?" he asked as he located on the map where the Imp camp was.

"Coordinates are within range, Lieutenant. Ranging shot firing now. Azimuth from this position north-north-west."

Lannes pulled out his binoculars to watch, and ten seconds later, a round landed squarely on top of a retreating Imperial soldier, well beyond where the Imperial force was forming up. "Fifty meters long, fifty meters right," he said, turning to look at the Imps—yes, it looked like some of the retreating troops were starting to drift back in around the flanks and rear of the formation.

Should they have attacked? No. That would have delayed the Imps and bought Kanawa some time to come up, but he and his entire squad would have been overrun. Pointless. Doubtless Damon would disagree if he heard about this, but he could go hang himself for all Heinrich Lannes cared.

Another round landed, this one demolishing some shelters. It was closer, though—and yes, the Imps were starting to move.

"Twenty meters long, forty meters right. And they're moving forward."

"Roger. Adjusting. On the way."

He switched frequencies. "Squad Two, get ready. You know your jobs. Lancers, tanks—concentrate fire on one super-heavy at a time."

He switched back as the shot fell right in front of the Imperial force. "Exactly right, pour it on."

"Roger. All mortars firing five-round stonk. On the way," Diamant said coolly just as the Imp artillery started landing and Lannes jumped off of _Thistle._

Apparently they'd pre-registered the artillery, this time, and he took a moment to wish that the Gallian army had bothered to do the same.

But they hadn't, and he took a brief lull in the shelling to see how Diamant's barrage had done.

The Imp force had taken a beating, but they'd spread out well, and those super-heavies were coming to a halt, barely within lance and cannon range. Accuracy and penetration were going to be dicey.

It looked like it was going to be a really bad day for everyone, he thought as his snipers began to take out anyone wearing red and his lancers and tanks all fired at one of the Imp super-heavies.

Half of the rounds missed, and he wasn't sure how much damage the ones that had hit had done.

Meanwhile, he had no idea how many of his soldiers were still in fighting shape, and said simply, "Target ten meters short and ten meters right of the last impact. And spread out a little."

"Roger. All mortars firing five-round stonk. On the way."

He noticed that the Imp artillery hadn't come in for almost a minute, and he hoped that it wasn't a deliberate pause before they dropped more of it on their heads. Right now, though, he had more pressing concerns, as the Imp super-heavies fired simultaneously and he held his breath to see where they would land. The rounds crashed in…

Just short of Squad 2's positions, and the fire splashed across the rocks, but did not ignite his soldiers.

The few surviving Imp scouts were starting to return his scouts' fire as the lancers and tanks fired again at the first super-heavy—and what were the things called, anyway?—the Gallian mortar rounds threw more Imp soldiers around like rag dolls, and someone must have hit the Imp just right, because the thing blew apart at the welds in a ragnite fireball that he almost thought he could feel the heat from at this distance.

The Imps were still pushing up the slope, but they were flagging. Their artillery was absent, they had been barraged by mortars twice, and they _had_ to be worried about the possibility of Gallian reinforcements, either normal soldiers or Sergeant Melchiott.

He was very tempted to order a counterattack, but then was reminded why that was a very bad idea, presently, when the remaining Imp super-heavy dropped an incendiary round right in the middle of Traherne's team.

The rocks and the fact that they were spread out meant that only a few of them were down, but the Imp shocktroopers were coming into range now, and his defense had just been disrupted at the worst possible time, and he was swinging his MAG onto an Imp lancer who had apparently decided to get in close.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

—and as the Imp fell he saw his lancers and tankers fire at the remaining super-heavy, and he wondered how long the Imps would be able to hold, particularly since the Imp infantry were running away…

Running away?

Yes, they were, and he immediately pulled out his binoculars to see if the Imps had managed to pull together another force. It didn't look like they had, so all they had to do was take out that super-heavy…and a sudden volley from the left blew the thing apart, catching a couple of the faster-fleeing Imps in the process, and he turned and grinned as he saw Kanawa's squad coming down the ridge, Fina's ambulance driving recklessly towards the squad.

He turned on the radio. "Squad 2," he said, "get our casualties where Fina can get to them easily. Then, we run these Imps down."

"Sir!" he heard Friedrich yell from behind him, and he turned to see the corporal and his team coming down the ridge.

"What did you find up there?"

"Not much, sir. There was just an Imp scout squad, and we brought them down quickly." Friedrich frowned. "Sergeant Melchiott is down as well."

"How do you know?"

"As we came down the hill, we could hear the sounds of a Valkyrian lance firing. But eventually those sounds ceased, but the sound of guns went on."

Lannes cursed. "That'll slow us down some. Get ready to keep moving, corporal," he added as Fina's ambulance skidded to a halt in front of them. "We've got Imps to catch."

His headset crackled. "Lieutenant!" Varrot yelled. "Gunther's in trouble. Sergeant Melchiott is down, and the Imperial are launching a pincer attack on his squad. You and Kanawa need to get around that ridge now."

"Understood, Captain," he said as he watched his soldiers carrying their fallen to Fina and _Thistle_ and _Briar_ worked their way out of their firing positions. "We'll be moving in two, but our flank's going to be hanging in the air. Are we getting any reinforcements?"

"Wilders is coming in behind Kanawa, and the 19th is going up and over the ridge to your left. From the reports we're getting, once Fielding's Hill is secure it should be a full-fledged rout."

"Excellent. We're moving, Captain," Lannes replied as he scrambled on top of _Thistle_ , Crichton began moving forward, and Squad 2 formed up around them. "They won't know what hit them."

* * *

As Heinrich Lannes sat back against _Thistle's_ tread, watching the Imp prisoners mill about under the guard of some of the other Gallian troops, he wasn't thinking of much of anything, besides the fact that he was glad to be off of the Naggiar.

They'd caught the Imps' northern attack force in the rear shortly after Gunther had blown its super-heavy straight to Hel, and they'd shattered like hammer-struck glass. Meanwhile, Berthelmy and Enjolras had slammed into the southern force and driven it right onto Gunther's squad with nowhere to run.

Three months earlier, that would have meant a fight to the death, and the three Gallian squads being rendered unfit for further combat for days.

Today, it meant that the Imps had surrendered as soon as they realized that they weren't getting out, and the 3rd had been able to hand off the prisoners to Ritterbach's battalion before pushing onward to the road and railroad that led to Citadel Ghirlandaio—and, it turned out, was the only way out for the Imps who hadn't already been snapped up as their position fell apart.

Resistance had been sporadic and scattered—a team here, a squad there—with the only significant resistance coming from an artillery battery whose captain had managed to hold it together enough that an Imp company's worth of troops had dug in around him.

Varrot hadn't had Squad 7—the fight for Fielding's Hill had left them unfit for offensive action—but against eight squads of Gallian infantry, an Imp force that size wasn't going to be around long, and she'd exploited her numbers ruthlessly, coming at the rearguard from three sides—but only with the tanks, while the snipers brought down any lancer that tried to poke his head up. The fight had taken all of ten minutes, and there had been nothing like it until they got to where the route to Citadel Ghirlandiao went into the hills, at which point they stopped and set up a defensive position to hold out against the desperate Imps trying to get out of the trap until relieved by the rest of the brigade.

However, there were no desperate Imps trying to get out. Instead, there were thousands of desperate Imps who knew that the Gallian military had rebounded from the brink of defeat _twice,_ that their commander had abandoned them (something no one in the 3rd had known until an extremely bitter Imp colonel spilled the beans), and that the Valkyria they'd been relying on to win the battle for them was missing in action.

So they surrendered. There were a few who attempted to start the fighting up again, usually the black-uniformed elites, but they were brought down by their fellow Imps before they could do any harm.

It hadn't taken long for the rest of the 3rd Brigade to show up to help them guard the thousands of prisoners, and it hadn't taken much longer for the 6th Brigade—the only other one that was combat-ready, supposedly—to pass through and dig in about two klicks north. Then, it hadn't taken long until some of the brigades who'd been hit hard but were still functional units had come up to guard the prisoners.

All of which explained why Squad 2, like the rest of the 3rd Brigade, was either draped over or leaning against any flat or semi-flat surface to be found. They anticipated being sent forward, and they were trying to rest while they could.

"Sir," Traherne called softly from his perch on top of _Thistle,_ "Captain's coming."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Lannes replied as he got to his feet. "Get ready to tell the squad to move out, because I think that's what she's coming to tell us."

Varrot walked up to them, her progress slowed by having to pick her way around the sleeping soldiers, but when she finally reached them her news was not unwelcome.

"We're moving out tomorrow morning. We'll be out in front, and I want Squad 2 to take the lead."

"Why us in particular, ma'am?" Lannes replied.

"I've just been informed that there are some stay-behinds operating in the Ghirlandaio Valley, and they could provide us with intel. I thought you might know some of them."

"Possibly, ma'am." A thought occurred to him, but he dismissed it almost immediately. Who knew where Sergeant Dordt had ended up? "It might even be likely. I wasn't there long, but any survivors from the Town Watch should be part of that group."

"Good. I hope you find them, Lieutenant. Taking the citadel will be…difficult."

That, he thought, was a massive understatement. Then he thought of something else.

"Do we know how Sergeant Melchiott is doing?"

"She's alive and well, but shaken up. Lieutenant Gunther's with her right now." She frowned slightly at that last sentence, and Lannes didn't blame her much.

"Be ready to go early tomorrow, Lieutenant. Also, the field kitchen's moving up right now. They should be here in an hour."

That _was_ good news, he thought, and wondered why he didn't feel as elated as he probably should be about their victory today.

Something must have shown, because Varrot looked at him sympathetically. "Gallia paid a high price for this, Lieutenant, even if we didn't ourselves." Her voice dropped. "And an unnecessarily high one, at that. If whatever happened to Sergeant Melchiott hadn't happened, we'd all be dead right now."

It was good to know that at least someone in authority knew what was going on.

"But we need to get the Imps out of Gallia, so rest well tonight."

"Yes ma'am."

As Varrot walked away, Lannes wondered if he was looking forward to seeing Julia or not.

Heinrich Lannes' mood was much improved the next day, as Squad 2 swept on down the road. Traherne and Friedrich's teams were up front, scouting to the left and right of the road, respectively, followed by the snipers, then him, then _Thistle,_ then Yancy and Rogers, and, finally, _Briar._

For one thing, they were out of the blasted wasteland of the Naggiar. For another, he was returning to where the war had begun for him—but this time, he was on the offensive, and if there were any Imps in their way, they would be the ones running away. Finally, it was a crisp and clear autumn morning, the leaves were red and gold, and the ground was solid enough that they wouldn't have to slog through mud if they went off-road.

He was not quite prepared for when they came over a rise and he saw Tannerman's Creek. The rush of memories hit him like a bullet, and he wondered what the others who'd been there that day were thinking as they saw where they'd made their final stand.

But there wasn't time for that now, and they pushed on past. Two hours later, as dusk was falling, they came into sight of Ghirlandaio town. It was still utterly devastated, and Lannes felt a pang of sadness overlaid with cold anger as he had a chance to look at what war had done to the place without having bullets cracking by his head.

Then two men stepped forward, out of the shadows of one of the ruined buildings, and he startled.

"Willem? Mr. Vredefort?"

"Please," his old boss said with a laugh. "You can call me Marcus now."


	22. Interlude: Letters from War IV

_The rapid Imperial retreat after Fouzen and the Marberry Shore should have taken much of the pressure off of the Gallian government, as civilians began to believe that the war would be over soon. However, this was not the case, as the horrific conditions Gallian forces found in Fouzen caused a lot of people to reconsider their previously neutral stance on the "Darcsen Question," while growing signs that it was the militia, not the regular army, that was leading the victorious offensive brought General Damon and Chancellor Borg's competence into question…_

Excerpted with permission from _A Social History of the Second Europan War_ , Amalie Rigolet; Varrot Books, 1973

Captain,

The report you requested.

Review of the Marberry Shore

Positives: The timely and well-aimed fire support provided by Lieutenant Diamant's mortar squad was crucial to the survival of the squad and the accomplishment of its objective. Sergeant Thompson's Gatling team was also extremely helpful during the operation. Fina also held to her post, even when it seemed like we were about to be overrun. Finally, the soldiers of Squad 2 held up under tremendous pressure—and the engineers are to be commended for successfully requisitioning enough Randgrizers to arm themselves. Also, Isara Gunther's smoke rounds saved a lot of lives.

Negatives: The lack of support besides the mortars nearly caused the operation to fail. Also, Isara Gunther's death, while no one's fault, was not good for morale. Further comments are in the summary.

Summary: There was precious little to be learned from this battle, besides the fact that the Imps seemed to understand how crucial it was that they hold the area. Tactically, they came at us in the same old way, and they died in the same old way. However, there is some muttering about the orders that we were given. Some are wondering if we were deliberately being set up to fail. I've attempted to dispel such rumors.

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

August 19, 1935

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

August 19, 1935

Dad,

You've probably heard that we took the Marberry Shore back a few days ago. It was a near-run thing, but we pulled through. I wish you could meet the squad—you'd never worry again about whether I'd live or we'll win the war eventually.

You mentioned that the refugees who were staying with you had finally left because they lived in Fouzen. I'm not sure what they'll find when they get there—the Imps really did a number on the place while they were there, and we really didn't help. But I'm glad you and Mom have the place to yourselves again.

Speaking of that, Jeanne is fine, as far as I know. No, I haven't read any signs of her doing anything that could cause problems down the road in her letters.

Anyway, victory's in sight.

Your son,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

August 19, 1935

Jeanne,

Sorry about the last letter I sent. It was overly focused on what had just happened, I know, and I did actually pay attention to what you wrote. As to what you wrote, please do be careful. I know you know that, but I needed to write it anyway.

In other news, the Marberry Shore is ours again—I knew you'd want to know that, since you've wanted to go there since you were four. You might have to wait a little while, though—there's a lot of debris and such left over, and cleaning it up's going to take awhile. We had a bit of trouble, and some things could have gone very badly wrong, but we pulled through.

Not many stories to be told, right now. Well, there is one. Part of the reason we won was because some of the soldiers had weapons that, if you were a real stickler, they weren't supposed to have—and which, in fact, I didn't know they had until they used them. Naturally, I asked about it once everything was over. After some hemming and hawing, they finally admitted that they'd gotten someone to make them, off the books, and hadn't pulled them about until just before the battle. I asked how they'd paid the man. I won't go into the details of the chain of deals they ended up brokering, but the one that started the whole thing involved lighting three pounds of bacon on fire in front of the local tavern.

No, it didn't make any sense to me, either.

Looking forward to your next letter.

Love,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

August 19, 1935

Julia,

I'm sorry to hear that Gherson died. He sounded like a good man, and I would've liked to have met him. And I should've been a bit less single-minded in that last letter, and I did actually read the one you sent. I know you said you understood, but I still thought I should tell you.

As to what the squad's been doing, we took the Marberry Shore back. It was a bit rough, at times—Imps almost came right up onto our positions towards the end, but the squad beat them back, and we ended up unhinging the whole Imp position. Well, you know that already, probably—I've seen the papers.

You mentioned wanting to know how the squad was dealing with everything after Fouzen. The answer is, about as well as could be expected, all things considered. Those who were…less than enthused about serving with Darcsens were never particularly loud, but I think some of them are rethinking things a bit. The Darcsens themselves—well, they were pretty determined to fight the Empire already. Now…I'm glad I'm not on the shooting end of their guns. And for everyone, Fouzen was just the final culmination of all the other things the Empire's done, starting with the invasion.

And now that the Marberry Shore's fallen, we've got them on the run. The war will end.

Please write soon.

Love,

Heinrich

* * *

Captain,

The report you requested.

Review of Bruhl

Positives: The operation went off nearly flawlessly. The attacks were coordinated perfectly, and the only reason we had any trouble was because the Imps retreated more quickly than we thought they would. Also, they seem to be having morale issues, although that might have been due to the circumstances of the assault rather than a broader trend. Finally, seeing the Imps back on their side of the border, at least in one place, is an unalloyed good.

Negatives: The only thing I can really say is that this operation was almost too easy, at least on our end. The last thing we want is to start thinking that the Imps are on their last legs—at the very least, it'll result in taking unnecessary casualties when we do something careless.

Summary: Finding out that we've finally got some permanence in our organization provided a significant boost to morale—especially since the field kitchen is actually competent—as did pushing the Imps back to the border. However, there is something causing some consternation—I refer to the rumors that the Imps are concentrating at the Naggiar, and that we're doing the same. That's causing some people to worry, including me.

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

September 3, 1935

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

September 3, 1935

Dad,

It's getting close to being over, I think. When we hit the Imps a few days ago, they cracked faster than I'd ever seen them run before. We didn't let ourselves run riot, though—we stayed professional, and didn't do anything stupid or reckless.

Also, I'm glad to hear that things are getting back to normal back home. Most of the refugees should be able to go back to their homes by now, although I don't know how things are up past the Naggiar and Ghirlandaio. It's going to take the north a long time to recover, though—most of the towns have been fought over at least once, sometimes twice. And who knows how long it's going to take trade to recover, never mind the human cost.

This war needs to end, and soon, but it will.

Your son,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

September 3, 1935

Jeanne,

I think this war's just about over. We've got the Imps just about kicked out of Gallia—and in our last fight with them, they went down pretty quick. On a related note, they've finally got around to putting us in at least semi-permanent brigades, right as we're actually about to end the war.

Well, probably, anyway. We might need to stay on the border just to make sure the Imps don't try anything funny while the government figures out the peace terms.

Also, that girl I mentioned? Turns out her unit and mine are in the same brigade. Yes, I'll be as careful as I've been telling you to be—the last thing I want to do is cause the both of us trouble.

Looking forward to your next letter.

Love,

Heinrich

* * *

Captain,

The report you requested

Report on the Naggiar Plains

Positive: The squad performed better than I'd ever seen them do before, under extraordinary conditions. They rapidly adapted to sudden changes in plan, were able to quickly improvise means of getting tanks into and out of trenches without crippling the tanks or themselves, and did not even flinch when confronted with multiple Imp super-heavy tanks supported by infantry. Also, Lieutenant Diamant's mortars were as accurate as they were during the Marberry Shore, and the supply troops managed to keep us fed and fueled despite undergoing constant harassing fire. Furthermore, seeing the Imps fall apart, rout, and surrender in droves after their witch was defeated and their commanders abandoned them was extremely satisfying. Finally, discovering that _we_ have a Valkyria of our own was a huge shot in the arm for morale—half the squad would be ready to march on the Imperial capitol right now, were it not for the next section.

Negative: We were nearly pointlessly killed multiple times during this battle, most obviously when we were about to be sent against the Imperial Valkyria and were saved by the entirely unanticipated intervention of Sergeant Melchiott, who turned out to be a Valkyria herself. That particular event is causing a revival of the grumbling that started after the Marberry Shore. None of it, however, is directed at anyone in the regiment. Unfortunately, the entire operation was conducted haphazardly, and, frankly, against every principle of war that I've ever heard of. Even the youngest privates understand that. I've been relying on the noncoms to keep things calm as much as possible, but the troops are angry.

Summary: We won at the Naggiar, but it was victory bought at too high a price. However, we have largely destroyed the Imperial forces in Gallia, and have discovered that we, too, have a living superweapon. These are not small things. Also, I would like to speak to you about certain matters that were drawn to my attention during the battle.

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

September 22, 1935

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

September 22, 1935

Dad,

You never wanted to talk about the trenches much. I understand why, now. They're calling the Naggiar a victory, and it was—the Imps don't have an army anymore, and we've got a Valkyria now, one much more capable than theirs.

But it was rough. We were in those trenches for only a few days, and I was starting to get twitchy from the constant artillery fire, the watching for trench raiders, and hearing about failed assaults elsewhere. How did you stand it for years? And we lost a lot of good men and women—before she was defeated, the Imp's Valkyria killed entire regiments—she got a squad from ours, at one point.

I can't say where we're going next, but I shouldn't have to. We win this next battle, and the Imps'll be gone from Gallia. And then maybe we can fix everything.

Your son,

Heinrich

* * *

Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes

3rd Militia Regiment

September 22, 1935

Jeanne,

We broke the Imps at the Naggiar. It was tough, and it was closer than it should have been, but we took out almost all of what was left of their army. I'm fine, just so you know. Don't worry about me.

It's not over, but it's close. Pretty soon you'll be able to go back to your job—and you're going to need to figure out what you're going to do with your boyfriend—was this just a wartime thing, or is it serious?

By the way, I've figured out the answer to that question for myself, so don't bother trying to turn this around on me. What's a trouble is that I don't know what I want to do after the war. But that's another story.

Love,

Heinrich


	23. Full Circle

_The Battle of the Naggiar left Prince Maximillian with few options. While he knew that the Gallian army had been hurt badly, the forces he had led into Gallia had been reduced to barely enough to hold Citadel Ghirlandiao, and that not for long, along with General Jaeger's personal force that he needed to escort the_ Marmota, _which he planned to use to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.  
For he had taken the measure of General Damon, and knew that he would go for the fortress with everything he could muster, in order to expunge his failure to hold it to begin with._

Excerpted with permission from _A History of the Second Europan War_ , William Hackett; University of Chimay; 1968

Heinrich couldn't see Friedrich's face from where he was standing, but he was sure the corporal was as shocked as he was.

"Mr. Vre—Marcus," he corrected himself, "what are you doing here? And Willem, what happened to you? We had no idea where you were."

Vredefort smiled. "What do you think, Hein—Lieutenant? Leading the stay-behinds, of course. Those letters I wanted you to deliver all those months ago were about that."

Heinrich knew there was more to the story, but that was a conversation they needed to have privately, and he looked at Willem—who, he noticed, looked like he'd lost all of his excess weight, and maybe a little more. Vredefort looked a bit leaner too, for that matter. Come to think of it, he was pretty sure he did too.

"Ran into a tree branch while I was running," van Egmond said with a wince when Vredefort finished, "hard enough to knock myself out. By the time I came to, the Imps had already gone by. I tried to find my way around them, but I got lost. By the time I got to the town, they'd already taken the place. That's where I met him," he added, pointing a thumb at the—not a businessman, or not strictly one at any rate.

"How many of you are there?"

"About a squad's worth, mostly stragglers from the Citadel. Willem here's the only Watchman," Vredefort said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Heinrich's heart sank. He'd been hoping van Egmond being here might have meant that some others from the Watch might've survived. But he needed to ask about what was up ahead.

"Do you know anything about what the Imps have set up at the Citadel?"

Vredefort grimaced. "We do—more than we want to. The only good news we have is that they practically stripped the place in order to reinforce their army at the Naggiar and there's nothing between here and the Citadel itself, and most of the troops defending it are either replacements on their way to the front or the survivors of half-wrecked units. But we saw that Imp Valkyria go in there, along with her personal guard. She'll be trouble."

Heinrich Lannes bared his teeth. "She won't be. We've a Valkyria of our own, and she beat that Imp monster like a drum."

Vredefort smiled nastily himself. "Good. I hadn't heard about that, but it does explain why she seemed to be somewhat bedraggled. Anyhow, we've got a map set up in the old courthouse with what we know about the Imps' positions on it."

"I'd like to see that," Lannes thought, his mind refocusing on the task at hand. He looked up at the darkening sky. They'd been marching all day, and while the town was mostly wrecked, it would offer some shelter, and it looked like it might rain.

"One moment." He turned on his headset. "Captain, we've made contact with the stay-behinds in Ghirlandaio town. Recommend that we stay here tonight and push on to the Citadel tomorrow."

"Agreed," Varrot replied. "Set up near the town square. The whole brigade is moving in, except for Major Ritterbach."

"Why?"

"General Damon decided to brigade all of the regulars together, effective immediately, and sent out the message this morning."

There wasn't much he could say about that. "I'll be in the town square, ma'am," he said instead, "close to where the stay-behinds have a map of the area."

"Excellent. Also, the field kitchens are at the rear of the brigade, and should be there in an hour. Varrot out."

He grinned, cheerfully this time. "Squad 2, head to the town square and set yourselves up for the night. Stay sharp, but the rest of the brigade's going to be here soon." He looked at his old boss. "When we get there, could I see the map?"

"Of course," Vredefort replied as he and Willem fell into step beside the lieutenant as they marched down the road. "Now, if you don't mind my asking, how is everyone? All I know is that the Watch took heavy casualties—I was taking care of supply caches when the Imps hit."

Lannes winced as the memories of Winter's headless corpse came flooding back. "Very heavy casualties," he said flatly. "It would be easier to tell you who made it out than who didn't. As to the rest," he shrugged, "a lot of them joined the militia or the Auxiliary, and most of them are still alive, while others went to work in the factories, and some found lodging with family."

"I see." Vredefort paused. "Have you heard anything from anyone else in the firm?"

"Not directly, aside from Julia Firenze." Lannes rubbed the back of his neck. "Ran into her after Vasel, we started writing, and…well. Anyway," he continued hurriedly, "nearly everyone else who worked for you ended up pushing paper, according to her."

Vredefort smiled. "I'm pleased to hear it—all of it."

Heinrich looked at him questioningly.

"Miss Firenze had her eye on you for weeks," his old boss said with a grin. "There was a small betting pool going on when you'd finally figure it out."

Heinrich sighed. "Of course there was," and was glad that they were speaking quietly and the rest of the squad was chatting merrily away. This would have been _exceedingly_ embarrassing. "It was early June."

Vredefort sighed. "Curses. I was thinking it would take until July."

"Your confidence is inspiring."

He smiled. "I am very happy for the two of you, though."

"Wait on the congratulations. War's not over yet."

"Take the happiness you can when you can, Lieutenant," Vredefort said softly.

That clinched it.

"Once we get to the map, can we talk? Alone?"

Vredefort nodded, and Heinrich Lannes knew that he knew why. "Of course. By the way," he added, "who's your commander?"

"Captain Eleanor Varrot. Why do you ask?"

"Varrot. Interesting. We were in the last war together. It will be good to see her again."

* * *

Four days later, as Lannes stood once more on the last hill before the valley they would have to cross to get to Citadel Ghirlandaio, along with most of the other lieutenants, he was extremely upset.

First, because he'd learned that Landzaat had been the one who shot Sergeant Melchiott. Even if it was to push her into…becoming, he supposed, a Valkyria, and thereby saving the Gallian army from destruction, couldn't he have at least asked? At least he was in jail. Second…

"This plan," he snarled, "has to be one of the most asinine concept's Damon's come up with yet."

Wilders demurred. "It's not worse than his plan to attack the Imps at the Naggiar."

His brow furrowed, and then he nodded. "True. There we had alternatives besides a frontal assault. But why not wait until we got some of those heavy guns we captured up?"

Wilders didn't answer, because they both knew why. Damon was planning on using the militia to soak up the bullets and wear down the Imps enough that the regulars could walk right on in.

And, of course, he was leading with the 3rd. Not for the first time, he thought Damon had it in for them personally.

"That information Vredefort and his men provided has been most helpful," Kanawa observed, and Lannes chuckled grimly.

"Yes, but we still don't know what's _inside_ the fortress. If that Valkyria's in there, all she's going to have to do when we blow that gate is stand there and fire that lance of hers."

"So we bring in Melchiott," Berthelmy boomed. "She beat that monster once, she'll do it again."

Wilders shook her head. "Sergeant Tlemcen," her platoon sergeant, "talked with Sergeant Potter an hour ago. She's not going to be using her Valkyria powers."

" _What!?_ " Lannes realized that everyone was looking at him.

Then he realized that he was the one who'd nearly shrieked.

It didn't even make _sense._ Yes, he was pretty sure that her and Lieutenant Gunther's relationship was, to put it bluntly, against regulations—and regs that needed to be there, to boot. But in light of that, it made even _less_ sense. She was virtually invulnerable as a Valkyria—why would Gunther want her to come onto the battlefield as a normal soldier? Particularly when he was pretty sure that she if she used her lance they could take down the gates without having to run an explosives-laden train down the railroad to the Citadel.

Nobody else looked particularly happy, either. "What's the captain saying about this?" Enjolras asked.

"As far as I know, nothing." Wilders sighed. "Using her powers would be risky—from what I heard, she was basically in a trance when she tore the Imps apart at the Naggiar. She was killing anything that was in front of her."

Lannes grunted. Wilders had a point—and the captain had almost certainly thought of that, which was probably why she wasn't ordering the Sergeant to…activate? Transform? Still…

"If that Imp Valkyria's going to be throwing beams of explosive light around and deflecting all of our attacks, it's going to be a real bad day," Falder said flatly. "Also, where is Gunther, anyway?"

"Planning his attack. Captain's got Squad 7 flipping the switches."

"Of course," Enjolras said dryly.

Lannes shrugged. "I'm glad I'm not having to do that." He looked at the walls. There were cannons and gatlings up there, and some of the stay-behinds had mentioned hearing about mortars.

Then he thought of something. "Vredefort mentioned that the Imps hadn't done any preregistering before we got here," he began. "Has anyone noticed them doing it since we arrived?"

They all looked at each other. Falder spoke first. "No," she said as her brow furrowed, "I haven't."

"That is most odd," Kanawa commented.

Berthelmy shrugged. "If they're that demoralized, so much the better."

They all nodded at that, but as Lannes looked around, he could tell none of them really thought that.

At least it wouldn't be much longer until they attacked. Damon had already sent all of the militia except for the 3rd Brigade elsewhere along the border, mostly to clear out a few Imp holdouts and to secure the crossings, and the regulars were settling into their new brigades, albeit not without some friction, at least according to Ritterbach.

He was not looking forward to this attack. On the other hand…

He lifted his binoculars to his eyes again, and looked at the Imperial flag flying over the gates to Gallia.

On the other hand, he was very much looking forward to kicking the Imps off of Gallian soil once and for all. And seeing Julia after supper.

The attack wasn't going well.

It wasn't going poorly, mind, and neither he nor Berthelmy were supposed to be making much headway—after all, it wouldn't do any good to push forward and then be trapped under the walls.

And, given that it looked like the Imps were sending reinforcements their way, they were accomplishing their objective, which was to make sure Gunther could push up the tracks and take the switches without too much difficulty.

However, the Imps were not quite as demoralized as Berthelmy had thought, and were nearly as aggressive here as they'd been before the Naggiar.

He smiled grimly as another Imp attack was shredded by Rogers' and Friedrich's teams. The snipers took down the leaders, the lances blew the tanks away, the scouts and shocktroopers dropped the foot soldiers, and the engineers kept everyone supplied and healthy, while occasionally firing off a grenade or two themselves.

The attacks weren't well-coordinated—in fact, they had an air of desperation about them—but they hadn't stopped for nearly half-an-hour, and his forward progress had been slowed to a relative crawl. The mortar fire had been sporadic at worst and inaccurate to boot, but he wasn't sure how long that happy state of affairs was going to last.

A thought occurred to him, then, and he looked over at the Imp corpse that he'd been sharing this little piece of cover with. Imps usually had their insignia right—yes, there it was. No wonder the attacks were uncoordinated—this man had been from an entirely different division than the corpse he'd checked five minutes ago.

He poked his head up and looked around. To his rear and to the left, Kanawa was catching up. To his rear and to his right, it looked like Gunther was about to move. To his front…to his front, it sounded like the Imps might be ready to crack, as the firing from behind the berm, not far away from the Citadel's wall, began to drop off.

"Follow me! Take the berm!" he yelled, jumped over the pile of rocks he'd been hiding behind, and began running forward, MAG at the ready. The shocktroopers and lancers followed him, the rest providing covering fire for this latest advance.

He and the others ran forward like Hel was on their heels, and he hoped that this wasn't the brainchild of some particularly clever Imp junior officer lying in wait with a full squad of shocktroopers supported by Gatlings.

It wasn't, and he ordered the rest to come up so they could move forward again—and then Gunther launched his assault.

This might have been an opportunity for Lannes to watch Gunther at work. However, he saw some Imps starting to move towards the tracks to block the onrushing assault, and that just wouldn't do.

"Forward!" he called, and led the squad over the berm.

The Imps cracked like an egg, and while they were setting up to make sure no other Imps interfered with the attack and the tanks took potshots at the guns on the wall, Gunther took the switches.

For some reason, the last switch being turned seemed to signal a pause in the fighting, as though the Imps wanted to see what the purpose of turning the switches had been.

They soon found out, as the explosives-laden train barreled down the tracks as fast as it could go. The Imps started firing, trying to derail the thing, but they just didn't have the time to adjust, and when the thing hit the gates the explosion slapped him like a pillow slammed in his face, despite the fact that it was nearly half-a-mile away.

The wall defenses were down, the Imps were running, and Squad 7 was already moving in for the kill.

"Come on!" Lannes yelled, and Squad 2 joined in, along with the rest of the 3rd, as the Imps fled towards the pile of rubble where the gate had been. Gunther's troops had a slight head start, however, and didn't have to scrabble past trenches, anti-tank obstacles, or fleeing Imperial soldiers.

Which was why, when Squad 2 got up to the breach, the first of the follow-on units to do so, Squad 7 was already through—and, from the sounds of gunfire, was fighting hard to maintain its position.

Lannes turned on his headset. "Gunther!" he yelled, "This is Lannes. Squad 2's ready to attack."

"Move through the breach and then to your right. Be careful—there's a Gatling there and some tank destroyers, and that Valkyria's here!"

"Why haven't we seen any exploding beams of light?"

"She seems to be trying to take on Alicia without her powers. She's got this automatic rifle she's using to sweep the courtyard—it's got the range of a scout rifle, but it fires like a MAG. She's got the approaches to the staircases covered."

Lannes grunted. Letting the fact that Gunther was openly referring to Sergeant Melchiott by her first name over the radio slide, he replied, "Have you tried dropping some smoke rounds?"

"Yes. The infantry are all up where she can't see them, now. I can drop a few in front of the left-hand stairs—that should give you enough cover," he said.

"Right. Do that, and then we'll push in. Hopefully that'll get the Imps' attention."

"One more thing. The Imps we're fighting are her personal guard. It's a tougher fight than getting in was."

Lannes shrugged, although Gunther couldn't see him. "Thanks for the info. We'll get it done. Lannes out."

He switched his headset to the squad frequency. "Here's the plan," he ordered, thinking furiously as he went. "Crichton, you're first—there's a Gatling in the courtyard you'll need to take out. Then Yancey, then Rogers, then Friedrich, then Traherne. That Valkyria's up on the battlements overlooking the courtyard with some kind of automatic rifle, so if you see the smoke start to clear, find cover. Greg comes in after Rogers. I think there are some elevators that go from the courtyard up to the battlements that we can use to get you up there, but that could take a little while. Crichton and Greg can provide fire support until then. Understood?"

"Yes sir," he heard over the radio and through the din of battle, and he grinned as he jumped on top of _Thistle_ just in time to see a thick blanket of smoke rise on the left of the courtyard.

" _Go!_ " he yelled, and Crichton gunned it to get through the breach into the courtyard as Lannes held on for dear life.

The courtyard in front of the gate was a disaster. It looked like the Imps had set up some defenses to cover the gate, not anticipating that the attackers would just blow it up. They were still making a fight of it, though, and he jumped off the tank as rifle bullets fired from up above whizzed past him and he caught sight of a heavy tank that was engaging in cat-and-mouse with the _Shamrock_. Now where was…ah, _there_ was the Gatling, he thought, right as Crichton fired and blew it away.

He ran forward, conscious of the fact that the smoke screen wouldn't last forever. If he got stuck up there alone, or with only one team, it wasn't going to be a very good day. But he could hear running feet behind him, and that was what mattered, he thought as he ran up and around the stairs and nearly straight into an Imp shocktrooper who looked almost as surprised as he did, but apparently was slower on the trigger.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

The Imp was down, and he reloaded frantically as he kept pelting up the stairs, suddenly realizing that Yancey was next to him. He'd never realized that she was quite that fast.

He turned around the corner to see an Imp sniper pointing his rifle directly at him, and he was too far away for the flamethrower and he hadn't quite finished reloading…

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

The sniper dropped, and Lannes nodded to Yancey before looking around as the rest of her team came up behind them. To the right was a stair leading up to a closed gate, one that apparently opened from the other side, to the left—to the left were Imps firing down into the courtyard.

Well, they had been. Now they were turning towards him, and he knew there was only one thing for it.

"Rifle grenades on that position! Shocktroopers, with me!" he yelled, and ran forward, as he heard the muffled _choonks!_ of the scouts and engineers demonstrating, once again, that Gallia relied on the precise application of heavy firepower.

The five grenades tore the Imp strongpoint apart, the few survivors were brought down in seconds, and after that the fight kept on being the kind of battle Lannes liked—quick, sharp, to the point, and where the Imps couldn't bring their superior numbers to bear to swamp his squad's firepower—especially not once they got the elevators working and brought the tanks up.

But the fighting was rough. These Imps just wouldn't quit—and, what was worse, actually managed to keep tight tactical control. They didn't have any artillery, but their snipers were much more than a nuisance, their scouts weren't running out in front of the shocktroopers and getting killed to no good purpose, and their movements were coordinated well enough to slow his squad's progress to a crawl. Further, they fought on even when it became _obvious,_ as more of the 3rd made it through the breach and out of the courtyard and onto the battlements, that the Gallians were in the Citadel to stay, and nothing would get them out of it short of the Imp Valkyria actually using her powers.

He spent the fight with one ear waiting for the panicked yells that she'd tired of the game and decided to just burn them all down, which was why it took him a moment to notice, just as Squad 2 was about to break out onto the front battlements, that the Imps had stopped firing.

In fact, they were standing up.

And they were… _surrendering?_

He hopped over some rubble he'd been behind, and saw the Imps walking forward, looking more defeated than he'd ever seen men look in his life.

He looked at a red-uniformed soldier. "Why surrender?" he asked, one of the few phrases he knew.

"General Bles has been defeated," the other man replied. "We cannot fight any longer."

Lannes wasn't sure what he thought of that logic, but he wasn't going to complain about it too much. As Squad 2 gathered the Imp prisoners, however, he heard his radio crackle, and switched it to receive.

"Lieutenant," Varrot said, "we have new orders. We're to escort the Imperial prisoners to safety."

"We?"

"The entire 3rd Brigade. General Damon is taking charge of the Valkyria, and the Citadel."

He wasn't surprised. Damon would make sure the militia who'd actually won the battle for him were as far from the field as possible before declaring that he and the regulars had done it all themselves. And he was taking charge of the biggest prize Gallia had yet claimed, at that.

He suddenly felt very tired, and as he looked around he saw that his troops were as tired as he was. "Are we going to have any time to rest, Captain? I wouldn't want to try and escort prisoners right now."

"We are. We're moving out tomorrow morning. Get the prisoners down to the courtyard, we're holding them there for the night."

"Understood, ma'am," Lannes replied, and as he began to give out orders, he realized that the war was probably over, now that the Imps had been driven from Gallia and the force they'd committed had been utterly destroyed.

So why didn't it feel like they'd accomplished anything?

* * *

They rolled out the next morning, all the militia who'd been in Damon's force marching on the sides of the road that the Imp prisoners were walking down.

Lannes looked at them coldly as they passed by. The 3rd was in the rear—a slight, he suspected, that Damon had ordered—but since they'd been in the courtyard as well, all of the Imps were passing by them.

There was…a certain satisfaction to actually seeing the full column of prisoners march by.

He sighed.

Julia's field kitchen had moved out the night before. The plan was for them to set up near the Naggiar in order to feed everyone, Gallian and Imp alike. While that was a sensible plan, it had meant that all they'd had time for was a brief exchange as he went through the line. They'd have time for more later, though.

He hoped.

"Sir," Traherne broke in on his thoughts. "Major Ritterbach's coming this way."

Lannes turned. "Major," he said, as Traherne moved just out of earshot, "to what do I owe the honor?"

The regular looked somewhat pained. "I…wanted to apologize. Aside from Captain Varrot, you're the only officer I know well in the militia. I've just spoken to her."

Lannes shook his head. "Apology unnecessary, Major," he said, and lowered his voice as he decided that he could trust the man, and it wasn't like he'd be in army much longer anyway. "It's not your fault that your commander is a feckless, reckless, petty, petulant child."

Ritterbach grimaced. "There may be more going on there than you realize," he whispered. "Just…be careful, Lieutenant."

He stuck out his hand. Lannes took it. "When you're demobilized, look me up," the major said as they shook hands. "I'd like to hear about what the 3rd did after Vasel."

"Likewise," Lannes replied.

"Take care. These men appear to be most desperate," Ritterbach said sardonically.

Lannes grinned. "You do the same."

The two came to attention and saluted each other, and Ritterbach turned and walked off. Lannes turned around. Yes, it was time. "Squad 2, move out!"

As they swung out on the road, Lannes took a moment to look behind them. Squad 7 was tail-end Charlie—which, he suspected, had also been ordered by Damon.

The man really was extraordinarily petty.

As they marched down the road, though, he felt his spirits began to lift. The war was probably about over, and he could leave the army. Of course, that left the question of what he'd do afterwards, but something told him working for Marcus Vredefort might be much more interesting than it had been.

For now, though, he was just going to watch the prisoners, make sure none of them did anything stupid, and enjoy not marching to battle.

The moment Squad Two crested the hill he'd stood on when he'd watched the Imps take the citadel, the world ended.

It wasn't quite like what had happened when Hardwicke had blown up that truckfull of ragnite in Ghirlandaio town. For one thing, it was much further away, which meant that he saw a bright blue light that caused him to whip his head around just in time to see the explosion that consumed Citadel Ghirlandiao—and to have the blast front punch him in the face three seconds later.

He staggered back and threw his arm up to shield his face, but as he realized that there was nothing else coming his way, he lowered it to see a giant toadstool standing over where the citadel had been.

"The Final Flame," Rogers whispered, and Lannes remembered that he was from the Barious, and knew a bit more than most about the Valkyrur.

"What does that mean?"

Rogers lowered his voice. "When the Valkyrur came down into Europa after the Darcsen Calamity, they didn't always win. Towards the end of the fighting, one of the Darcsen chiefs managed to take a Valkyria prisoner. Supposedly, he wanted to see if there was a way for the Darcsens to gain the powers of the Valkyrur.

"No one knows what happened next. But all the stories agree that, less than a week after the Valkyria was taken care of, the searchers saw something that looked like that," Rogers quickly stuck a thumb towards the still-rising, "in a range of hills. They gave up the search, and no one heard from that chief, his tribe, or the captured Valkyria ever again."

Lannes nodded. "Thanks, Corporal. Don't tell anyone else that story until I say otherwise."

"Yes sir," Rogers replied, but Lannes barely noticed as his mind raced. The whole thing had been a trap, and Damon's pettiness was the only reason the militia hadn't been caught in it with rest of the Gallian army, including Ritterbach and his men.

Valkyrur curse it, he would have liked to have known the man better, and he resolved to hoist a glass in his memory when this was all over.

His headset crackled. "All squads," Varrot said, voice strained, "we just received word. The Empire's just punched some kind of secret weapon through the Wildwood, and it's headed straight for Randgriz. They want Squad 7 down there immediately, and I'm going with them. Get the prisoners to the POW camps, and then meet us on the old road between the Wildwood and Randgriz. This is it, people."

 _That's_ one _way of putting it,_ Lannes thought as he acknowledged her order. _Guess we might not have that time after all._

 **A/N: Just wanted to take a moment to thank those of you who've been reading this thing from the beginning. I'm glad you're enjoying this, and I hope you keep doing so until the end-which is going to be sometime in January. See y'all next week.**


	24. Bloody Bridge

_Many of the events of the final days of the second Imperial invasion of Gallia remain mysteries, and likely always will. The failure of the Gallian Valkyria to make an appearance when the_ Marmota _went through the Royal Guard like a thresher through wheat, the disappearance of Squad 422, the exact chain of events that led to the destruction of the_ Marmota _and the death of Prince Maximillian; all have been, and are likely to remain, fodder for conspiracy theorists and writers of lurid novels._

 _What was a mystery, but now is not, is the reason General Radi Jaeger did not attempt to rejoin Maximillian after Second Vasel…_

Excerpted with permission from _Ripples in the Water: The Aftermath of the Second Europan War_ , Gudrun Trygvasdottir; Stork Books; 1954

As Squad 7 had taken off to the south, Lannes took some time before the column of prisoners and the militia guarding them moved forward again to circulate again and talk to the squad. He could have done it over the radio, but this…this was the sort of thing that required a personal response.

He didn't say much, and he didn't vary it much either. He just reminded the soldiers that they were still around, even if the regulars weren't, that the Imp Valkyria was almost certainly dead, and that they could kill anything else the Imps might throw at them.

He didn't, however, remind them about Sergeant Melchiott, mostly because he wasn't sure if Gunther and Varrot would actually use her Valkyria powers or not. He could understand not using them against the citadel—who knew, maybe they could only be used a certain number of times—but if that…whatever-it-was…had managed to chew through the Wildwood, killing it would be worth the risk. But he thought there was more to it than that, and he wasn't about to get his troops' hopes up and then have them confronted with the whatever-it-was still doing…whatever it did…when they arrived.

Once they got reorganized, everyone picked up the pace—and while ordinarily the Imp prisoners might've been inclined to dilly-dally a little, they wanted to get as far away from the smoking crater as the Gallians did.

When they finally got to the Naggiar, they found two things. First, the field kitchen, set up and serving. Second, trucks enough to load up the entire 3rd Militia. Also, they were getting shoved to the head of the line for food.

Wilders asked why when the messenger told the lieutenants about their orders, and he'd lowered his voice. "They couldn't stop the thing. It's a battleship on tracks, practically. Tore through the Guard like it was tissue paper, from what I was told, and a lot of our motor transport is unavailable and no one seems to know why. Scraping up this much was difficult. You people're going because Varrot's the officer on the spot."

As Lannes went through the line, he wondered about that reasoning. That seemed a little off, honestly, but—on the other hand, if you only had a regiment to take on a land battleship, you'd want one you _knew._

But his train of thought was broken when he came up to where Julia was pouring the coffee. She looked at him, and he knew she knew. The grapevine always won. But what could they say that there was time for? So he reached into his pocket, pulled out an envelope, laid it next to the coffee urn, and moved towards the trucks where the rest of the regiment had gathered. They were still waiting on the tanks to get there, and no one saw any point in clambering on just yet. Besides, it was easier to eat when you weren't crammed into a truck.

He'd almost finished when Traherne said "Sir, you might want to turn around."

He did so, and there Julia was, walking towards them, envelope clutched in her hand. He looked around, and noticed that the tanks were starting to come in.

He quickly mopped up the last of the stew with the bread and crammed it into his mouth, desperately trying to finish chewing as he walked forward. She looked…upset. Come to think of it, maybe he should have waited until he got on the truck to finish. No, there wouldn't be time for that.

Just as he swallowed the last of the bread, they stopped at arms-length from each other, and she seemed to realize that she still had the envelope in her hand and stuffed it into a pocket as she said, "No, Heinrich. You don't get to tell me goodbye with just a letter."

"Julia—"

"I know why you did it. You didn't think there would be time before you had to go to say what you wanted to say. I'm not angry with you."

"There still isn't time. The tanks are about to get here, and—"

"There's time enough for this," she replied, stepped forward, put her arms around her neck, and kissed him hard enough that he barely noticed that she was practically molding her body to his. Well, as much as she could, given all of the equipment that was in the way.

Too short a time later, she pulled her head back—the _only_ part she pulled back. "That's all I wanted to tell you. Come back. Please."

"I can't promise that. But I do promise not to do anything stupid." He looked around. The tanks were almost there, and the troops were climbing on the trucks. He kissed her, briefly, then disengaged gently. "I have to go." He paused. "I love you," he said, and walked back towards the trucks as fast as he could.

He didn't look behind him. The last thing he needed was to break down in front of the squad.

* * *

Heinrich Lannes looked at what lay ahead of the 3rd and wondered how on earth they'd be able to crack these defenses in time. Jaeger had dug his men in deep in the few hours they'd had. Sandbags, tank obstacles, anti-tank guns, the works, and that was what they could tell from the few minutes of recon they'd had time to do.

Varrot spoke. "Can you do this, Lieutenant?"

"Yes ma'am," he replied. "It'll be rough, but we'll get it done."

Her plan, he thought, was utterly reckless. It was also the only scheme that might get them across Vasel Bridge before the Imp land battleship reached Randgriz.

There would be no reserve. Varrot was going to throw all seven squads at Jaeger's men, who were deployed in an arc with its flanks on the river, and have the main axis of attack just to the south of the Randgriz highway—which was where Squad 7 was attacking.

Wilders and Falder were going to attack the flanks, and hopefully draw some of Jaeger's reserves their way. Then, closer to the center, Kanawa and Enjolras would do the same. Then, next to last, he and Berthelmy would strike for the river to try and cut off the troops who were facing the others. Finally, Gunther would attack the bridge, where Jaeger had personally taken charge of the defense. If everything went well, the Imps wouldn't be able to move any reinforcements to stop that attack, and, once the bridge fell, they'd give up and let the 3rd move on.

And while he was wishing for the impossible, maybe Gunther and Melchiott would get their heads screwed on straight. Those two—

He cut himself off from that line of thought. There wasn't time for that.

He looked at the sector they'd been assigned. Two streets, with what looked like some fairly substantial buildings between them.

He nodded. That made things easier.

He turned to look at the noncoms and tank commanders. Rogers and Yancey were standing a little closer together than he was comfortable with, but he'd heard the two of them making each other promise not to do anything stupid. Friedrich was doing his best to emulate Traherne's apparent calm. Crichton and Gregory were looking intently at the streets to see how hard it would be to get the tanks through.

"Here's the plan," Lannes began. They all turned to look at him. "We're going up both streets. Yancey, Friedrich, Gregory. You're going up the street closest to the highway. Yancey, you lead. Traherne, Rogers, Crichton, you're with me. We push for the river, or until we run into the troops Jaeger's going to have to deploy to meet Wilders and Kanawa moving back to meet Gunther's attack. If someone goes down, stabilize them and then move on quick. Mina's going to be right behind us. Any questions?"

There weren't any. They knew what was at stake.

"Right. Get back to your teams and form up. Eleven minutes to jump-off."

He moved with the rest of them, giving Crichton time to get into his tank, then clambering on top of _Thistle._ He took a moment and looked around. The noncoms were doing a final check on their troops—they didn't need to discuss deployments, not for this battle anyway. Yancey and Rogers' teams would lead the way, each followed by a tank, with Traherne and Friedrich behind. The snipers would just do what they did best, which was to cause mayhem—although he had ordered them to keep to the rooftops.

He turned on his headset. "Squad 2, listen up."

Everyone stopped what they were doing, and he continued. "It seems like the war's brought us full circle. This was the first place we fought together, and it looks like it'll be one of the last. We're even attacking from the other side of the river."

He paused. "This is going to be tough. Jaeger's men are tough, flexible, well-equipped, and dug-in hard. _But that doesn't matter._ What _matters,_ today, is that we have to get across that bridge. If we do, we've still got some hard fighting ahead of us. But if we don't—well, if we don't, the Imps get that iron monstrosity of theirs into Randgriz, and we probably don't have a country anymore. So fight like there's no tomorrow, because if we fail here, we won't have one."

He paused. "So check your guns, check your grenades, and check your Ragnaid. We're about to take out the last of Maximillian's generals."

He heard gunfire from the south and north, and nodded. Wilders and Falder were moving right on schedule.

The minutes passed, and he could feel the anticipation building, coiling…and then the radio crackled, right as he heard the sounds of the second stage of the assault begin.

"Lieutenant!" Varrot called. "You need to move now. Jaeger's troops mousetrapped Wilders. She's taken heavy casualties, and the road in is under heavy fire. Kanawa's moving, but she needs the pressure off of her now, and it looks like Jaeger's reserves are tied up bringing her down. If you can punch through quickly, you might be able to hit them while they're focused on her."

"Understood, Captain," Lannes replied. "We're moving out now. Lannes, out."

He switched his headset to send. "Change of plan. We're moving now. The rest stays the same. Let's _go!_ "

They went, _Thistle_ rocking into motion as Rogers' team moved forward. He couldn't see Cranmer or Engels, but he knew they were there when he saw an Imp tumble off one of the rooftops.

The scouts began trading shots with their Imperial counterparts as the Gallians moved in. Normally, this would have been a certain win—however, this time it was the Imps who were dug in, and the Gallians who were out in the open and advancing, which meant that, had the opposing forces been limited to the scouts, things might have been dicier.

However, they weren't, and while the Imp scouts and snipers were busy trying to survive being shot at by weapons much more accurate than theirs, the engineers were moving forward and getting the tank obstacles into Randgrizer range.

They fired, the obstacles exploded, and _Thistle_ had a clear path to within mortar range of the first Imperial defenses.

A sniper's bullet whizzed by, and Lannes turned his head to see where it came from just in time to see the Imp fall out of a second story window.

 _Thistle_ fired, and the sandbags the Imp scouts had been behind—and the scouts—went flying.

At which point the Imp lancers and anti-tank gunners announced themselves by firing at _Thistle._

Most of the rounds missed, but he felt one of the lances hit a tread, and knew Crichton wasn't moving forward until one of the engineers fixed the tank.

So he jumped off, just as Traherne's team ran past _Thistle_ to add their firepower to the mix. They needed to get the Imps out of the way, but…yes, they'd bunkered up in the side streets and the buildings.

There wasn't time to do it safely.

So he yelled, "Follow me!" and charged for the nearest Imp position as fast as he could, sliding to a halt against a sandbag as the shocktroopers behind it tried and failed to fill him full of holes and sticking his MAG over the top and hitting the trigger for the flamethrower.

The screams that came from behind the sandbags said he'd hit his target, and he realized that he wasn't being shot at from across the street—and then the screaming from across the street registered, and he looked behind him to see Guildenstern crouched against the front of a building.

Student ran around him and stuck his MAG into the window of the next building, and poured blue flame into the confines, then staggered back as the backdraft nearly caught him in the face, and then fell as he caught two bursts of fire from across the street.

He made to charge forward, but he saw that Zollern was running forward, and so he held back as the shocktrooper proceeded to do the same thing Student had, although he ducked before firing.

One of the Imp shocktroopers must have realized what was coming, because he tried to burst through the door. However, Lannes had set his sights on the door, just in case.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

The Imp crumpled, and he quickly stabilized Student as the shocktroopers and lancers of Traherne and Rogers' squads ran past him, firing and maneuvering as they went. Half the lancers had switched to the mortar configuration, and everyone was throwing rounds into the windows as they moved forward, far faster than the drill usually called for.

He ran to join them, just as he heard the sounds of fighting erupt just to their north. Gunther had just kicked off his assault, and he hoped that Varrot hadn't been too premature with that. But that was his lookout—right now, he had to punch through to Wilders, and the Imps weren't making it easy, a point underscored by an Imp heavy tank hidden in an alley to the left lobbing a mortar round into the van of the Gallian troops.

Fortunately, they were all lancers, which meant that no one was seriously injured. Unfortunately, the Imps had apparently anticipated that, because he heard the sounds of cracking rifles as Imp scouts and snipers began to bring them down and the rest tried to find cover.

His scouts and snipers returned fire, but right now they needed to take out that tank, and he was trying to figure out how to do it without losing half the troops he had with him when he saw Rogers and Tromp duck into the building right in front of the alley, which had been a clothing store before the war came here.

What were they…

An explosion rocked the store to its foundations, and he realized what had happened when a second explosion followed, this one coming from the Imp tank. Rogers must have blown a hole in the wall, and Tromp had blown the tank straight to Hel.

Good initiative, he thought, but they had several blocks to go, and he didn't know how long they had or how many Imps were still between them and Wilders.

"Come on!" he yelled, and moved forward, the rest of the squad moving with him. Then he realized that no one was shooting at them anymore, and he took a moment to look at the shape his part of the squad was in, and winced slightly. Rogers was still there, but there were only two lancers and four shocktroopers left, and given just how confused the fighting had been—he turned and looked behind him to see how many scouts and engineers were still there.

Five and three, respectively, along with Traherne, and he winced again. The medics would have their work cut out for them today. At least it sounded like Yancey had broken through to the north, and _Thistle_ had almost caught up to the infantry.

Right now, however, they needed to push forward, quickly. There was still firing to the right and to the front, but the latter was starting to die, and he wasn't sure if it was because Wilders was down or because the reserves were being pulled back to meet the other attacks. It didn't matter, because he needed to hit those reserves before they could get in the way of Gunther's strike for the bridge.

Was there time to reorganize?

No, there really wasn't, but there would have to be. He didn't have enough lancers and shocktroopers for them to lead the way.

He ran towards the tankand scrambled on top of the tank as he gave orders. "Hold up until I order otherwise. Scouts forward with the lancers and shocktroopers. Traherne, right side of the street. Rogers, the left. Engineers, keep near _Thistle._ Crichton, in the middle and on point. We need to get to Wilders _now._ "

"On it, sir," Crichton replied, and though he could hear the worry in the sergeant's voice, Lannes couldn't detect any hesitation in it. He knew the score, and he'd heard him climb on top of the tank. Any risks he ran Lannes would run as well.

The scouts were among the shocktroopers, and _Thistle_ was in position. It was time to roll forward again, and he hoped Yancey had done the same thing he had.

Actually, what he hoped was that she hadn't taken nearly as many casualties as he had and so hadn't needed to, but given the intensity of the firing he'd heard he was fairly sure that idea was a pipe dream.

"Move," he said simply, and his half of Squad 2 lurched forward, he heard the sound of Mina coming up behind them, and felt a sense of relief wash over him. At least some of his soldiers would survive the day, no matter what happened in the next few minutes.

Well, except defeat. But that would _not_ happen.

The sound of a Gallian sniper rifle pierced the air, and an Imp scout fell forward into the road. At least one of the snipers was still fighting…

Then he saw the Imp troops starting to hurry across the road, less than four blocks from the Gallians. He opened his mouth to tell them to fire, but his soldiers did not need orders, and four Imps went down as _Thistle_ fired and blew the heavy tank's tread apart while the lancers—all of whom, he noticed, were carrying anti-tank lances instead of mortar ones—fired into the tank's hull.

The Imp tank fired back, directly into _Thistle's_ bow, and Lannes could _feel_ the Gallian tank nearly come apart at the welds as the round hit and he rocked back. But the Imp infantry was moving towards them, not towards the Randgriz Boulevard or back towards Wilders, which meant that they'd accomplished at least part of their objective.

Unfortunately, they now needed to survive the attack and destroy the Imp troops heading their way. Lannes noticed that the tank he was on seemed to be a little less fragile than it had been, and looked behind him to see van Reenan, Ivor, and Kat feverishly doing—whatever it was engineers did to repair tanks on the battlefield. He wasn't convinced that it wasn't magic, but if it kept _Thistle_ together he could live with that.

His infantry had gone to ground as best they could, jumping through windows and doors, and the scouts and snipers were picking off the Imp scouts trying to bring down the lancers.

As for him…he was going to stay on the tank, although the bullets starting to spang off the hull were causing him to rethink the notion.

The lancers and Crichton fired again, and the Imp tank disintegrated in a ball of blue fire. The Imp infantry, however, despite having lost more than half a dozen men, pushed forward, and Lannes sensed that this was a tipping point. If they could keep the Imp shocktroopers from getting to the scouts…right. Hopefully there weren't too many lancers left on the other side.

"Sergeant Crichton, move forward and don't stop 'til I tell you!" he yelled into the headset, and _Thistle_ lurched forward just as the Imp shocktroopers came into MAG range.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

The Imp dropped like a badly-placed account book, and his comrades joined him as the distraction caused by suddenly having a multi-ton iron monster with some lunatic standing on top of it and firing with wild abandon come towards them drew their attention for crucial moments that the rest of the Gallians used to full advantage.

Lannes reloaded quickly, still standing on top of _Thistle,_ for reasons that he didn't quite understand but seemed to make sense to him. Just as he finished, though, he realized that no one was shooting at him, and he looked around.

The only soldiers still on their feet were wearing blue, the only soldiers on the ground were wearing black and red, and this part of the battle, at least, was over.

Now, all they needed to do was get to Wilders.

Hopefully, they wouldn't be too late to save her wounded.

"Forward!"

* * *

Heinrich Lannes looked at the Great Vasel Bridge, and sighed. It was a somewhat depressing view, what with the wreckage and all, but he really didn't want to look at what was behind him.

It turned out that there was a reason the Imps had retreated from their advance—Gunther had destroyed General Jaeger's tank, which had been the linchpin of the defense on the Randgriz Boulevard. The Imperial commander had ordered a general withdrawal and then, according to one of the prisoners they'd taken, walked off into the smoke, and, apparently, evaded all of the Gallian troops who'd been closing in on them.

As to his squad, they'd made it in time for the medics to save all of Wilders' wounded, but two-thirds of her squad had been incapacitated, including her _and_ both of her tanks. To make matters worse, his squad's casualties had been average for the 3rd—even Gunther had had nearly a third of his soldiers taken out of the fight. All of this meant that there had been enough Gallian casualties that the Imps had received very short shrift in the triage.

Which was why there were multiple rows of black and red clad corpses behind him, along with more than a hundred Gallian wounded.

Varrot hadn't wanted to stop, but they'd needed the respite to both rest and reorganize. Wilders' squad wasn't going to be able to fight on its own, so she'd folded it in with Kanawa's, and the other squads had needed to reform their ranks.

Lannes' team leaders had all made it through, which put him ahead of every squad except Gunther's, but the Imps on Yancey's street had been more focused than the ones on his, and _Briar_ and Gregory had taken the brunt of the initial Imp counterfire. That had given the sergeant more leeway, and she'd taken slightly fewer casualties than he had, but he was still down a tank—although at least this problem was only shared by Falder and Enjolras.

Nearly four hundred infantry and fourteen tanks had attacked the bridge.

Less than two hundred infantry and nine tanks were available to push across it and try and stop the _Marmota_ from doing…whatever it was going to do.

It would have to be enough.

"Lieutenant," he heard Varrot say quietly from behind him. "We're moving out in five minutes."

"Do we have a plan for stopping that thing before its gets to Randgriz?"

"No," she said flatly. "It's made it to the castle. We're lucky that Maximillian drove it along the main boulevard instead of elsewhere. He ran right over the elements of the Royal Guard left there during Maiden's Shield."

Lannes was aghast. "Who ordered them to get out and face that thing?"

"Chancellor Borg," Varrot replied grimly. "I don't know what he thought they would accomplish, but we need to move now. Order of march is Enjolras, Falder, Kanawa, Berthelmy, you, Gunther."

"Yes, ma'am. Understood."

They would have to be enough.


	25. Marmota and Maximilian

_Naturally we observed the_ Marmota _when it broke through the wall of Randgriz. We were prepared to defend the embassy, and cover the retreat of the civilian staff. I greeted this prospect with less trepidation than I might have before midsummer, as I now had a reinforced company under my command. However, when the land battleship simply crashed into the royal castle, I am not ashamed to say that I was quite relieved._

 _However, I was rather disturbed when, less than an hour later, the thing lifted part of the castle out of the ground and trundled off._

Excerpted with permission from the unpublished memoirs of Colonel Miles Hayworth

Heinrich Lannes had some idea of how large the thing was before he actually saw the _Marmota_ for the first time. For one thing, the 3rd had been following its tracks for hours, although he still wasn't sure how it had managed to cross Vasel Bridge without breaking it—then again, there had been a lot of ominous creaking as the Gallians crossed the river. Second, he had felt the ground shaking for more than nearly half an hour before he finally saw it.

Even so, when he finally did, his mind went blank for a moment as it tried to wrap itself around what it was seeing. Surely nothing that size could actually move itself on land!

But it could, and it did. It was an iron mountain grinding across the landscape towards him, and for the first time since the fighting for Ghirlandaio town, he felt his bowels loosen a little.

They'd also been able to put themselves across the Imps' line of march, thanks to a radio transmission from some brave woman in the military headquarters in Randgriz who'd stuck to her post. Varrot had deployed Falder and Enjolras to the left, Berthelmy and Kanawa to the center, and Gunther and him to the right. Her orders had been simple. "Focus your attacks on the area damaged by Sergeant Melchiott in the previous battle. Exploit that, gain access to the interior, and destroy the dreadnought's engine."

That was all well and good, but he wasn't really sure if putting themselves in front of the thing was a good idea. Yes, the troops in the woods—his squad included—had some concealment, but there were several small farms in the area, and some of the squads—particularly Berthelmy and Kanawa's—were badly exposed.

As he thought about this, he realized that the thing had stopped for some reason. It couldn't be them—after all, it had blown apart the Royal Guard without even slowing down, or so Varrot had said. So why had it halted?

Now that it wasn't moving, he was able to take in just how _large_ it was. Just the rear section was the height of a three or four story building—and what was that white thing protruding over it that kind of looked like a lance?

Wait…could it be…

He took out his binoculars to get a closer look, which meant that he was in a perfect position to see energy begin to gather on the tip, and had just enough time to yell "Get down! _Get down!"_ and to follow his squad in the order before the world ended in fire and wind.

When the ground stopped heaving, he realized that he was still alive, and looked around to his squad. No one seemed to be hurt, but he looked over to the left, and his heart stopped.

There was nothing. There was a trench carved into the ground, burning houses and trees on both sides, and no sign of Squads 4 and 5—or, of course, Kanawa and Berthelmy.

None whatsoever.

Valkyrur _damn_ Maximilian and Welkin Gunther!

Then he turned his head to look in the direction of the trench, saw a great mushroom cloud where a mountain peak had been, and realized that the Darcsens might not have been the ones to create the Barious Desert.

But that something he'd need to think about later. For now…how were they going to kill it? And where were those Imps who were supposed to be guarding it?

"Stay clear of the front of that thing! Move around to its side!" Varrot called over the radio.

 _Why couldn't you have thought of that three minutes sooner?_ Lannes thought bitterly, but he knew she was right. And he was being unfair—how could _anyone_ have known that something like _that_ would happen.

Varrot's voice crackled again over the radio.

"Lannes, Gunther's advancing towards the near end of the dreadnought. Move your squad to cover him, a few hundred meters up."

"Understood, Captain," Lannes replied, and switched frequencies. "Squad 2, you saw what just happened, so you know what's at stake. This thing could kill all of Gallia if we gave it the chance, but that's not what's going to happen. Gunther's going to kill this thing, and we're going to keep the Imps off his back while he does it. Arrowhead formation, _Thistle_ in the center behind the scouts. We're heading for the midpoint of that thing."

He scrambled on top of the tank, and as it lurched forward he felt his breast pocket carefully. He hoped that if it all went to Hel, someone would get the letter to his family. His mouth quirked. Hopefully he'd get the chance to introduce Julia to them, instead of her having to do it herself.

He looked to his left and right. The squad had set itself up properly—scouts in front, shocktroopers and lancers behind, engineers behind them, snipers wherever they thought best. At least all four of them were still in the fight.

As they moved closer through an open field, he kept his binoculars focused on the Imp war machine, trying to see what kind of close-in armament it had. At least it didn't have those monster cannon that had apparently blown the Royal Guard away at the pass mounted back on this end. No, just smaller cannon and Gatlings lining the side, not too thickly seeded. Trouble, but if they could take out a few of those they should be able to create a dead zone where they could set up a blocking position.

As they passed into a wooded area, his mind raced as he tried to determine where they'd need to start. Then he remembered that there had been reports of an infantry escort, and he looked around before remembering that trees would also blocking his vision in the direction the Imps would probably come in from. Then again, the concealment provided by the woods was probably the only reason they weren't being fired on right now.

Come to think of it, why wasn't he hearing any fire from that thing? Were they so focused on firing that horrendously oversized lance that no one on board was paying attention to whether or not there was an infantry attack coming their way? Did they think it was secure enough that they didn't need to engage in long-range fire to keep enemy troops from coming near?

Whatever the reason, the closer his troops got before the Imps opened fire, the better, as far as he was concerned.

Just as they came to the edge of the woods, and Lannes started to see the target again, looming over them, Varrot's voice crackled over the radio again.

"Lieutenant. The Imperial escort's moving in with a pincer attack. There's a small force coming in from the south, but their main attack's coming in from further up the _Marmota._ I need you to block it."

"Yes, ma'am," Lannes responded. "Can we expect any support?"

"No, Lieutenant. Falder and Enjolras are already under attack, and Gunther's going to be attacking the engines and that superweapon. You'll have to hold them off alone."

"Understood, ma'am," he replied, as he tried to figure out how he was going to deal with taking on Imp infantry while avoiding fire from the turrets lining the sides of that thing. "Enemy strength?"

"Three squads, but there's no sign of any Imp tanks."

Lannes looked at his troops. He only had one tank, and half his infantry were flat on their backs in Vasel. But did it really matter?

No. This was necessary.

"Understood, ma'am," he replied. "If they hit you and Gunther, I won't be around for you to yell at. Lannes out." He switched his radio to send.

"Squad 2. This is it. We win, the war's probably over and we get to go home. We lose, the war's over, and we won't care because we'll all be dead. We're about to attack this thing _._ Lancers and _Thistle_ at the tip, but otherwise maintain formation. We're going to take out some of those turrets and then take on some Imps." He paused. "It's been an honor. Now move out."

When they reached the forest's edge, he took a moment to look closer at the thing. It looked like the setup was that across a squad's frontage, there would be a cannon turret and three Gatling turrets, and then the pattern would repeat.

He nodded. Gatlings first. "Rogers, you and the lancers fire when ready on the Gatling immediately to the right of the cannon directly in front of us. Crichton, you do the same," he finished, then immediately had to grab on to the turret as the sergeant turned it as fast as he could in order to get the thing in his sights.

The lancers and the tank fired nearly simultaneously, and Lannes grinned coldly as the Imp turret disintegrated, even though at least one of the rounds had missed. That, however, seemed to wake the Imps up, and the Gatlings began to fire, seeking whoever it was that had destroyed their brother.

But the trees concealed the infantry well, and thus the Gatlings sought out the one target they could see, which meant that he had to quickly scramble behind _Thistle's_ turret and hunker down as the Imps sought to riddle him.

His voice still seemed unnaturally calm as he said "Now take out the one to the left of that. Everyone else stay alert and don't do anything stupid…"

 _Thistle_ fired at the same moment that the Imp cannon turret finally joined the party, and Lannes was flung off behind the tank.

He lay there for a moment, not quite clear on the fact that he was alive, but then realized that their tank had taken some extremely heavy damage just then, and if it went down…

He came to a crouch just as Ivor and van Reenan came running in just barely ahead of the Gatling fire, sliding in behind the tank, and rolled further back and out of their way. From here, he could tell that they'd taken out the second turret as well.

 _Thistle's_ turret traversed to the left, and the lancers and tank fired again. The cannon turret exploded, and the remaining Gatling that could bear on the squad shortly followed suit.

Lannes scrambled back up onto the tank and looked to the left. It seemed like Gunther was succeeding, judging from the smoking wreckage of the turrets in that direction. Then he looked to the right, and saw the Imp escort coming down by squads, anchoring their flank on the sides of the _Marmota_.

They were only three hundred meters away.

This was going to be interesting.

"Here's the plan. Our left is going to be on the _Marmota._ I don't want elbows rubbing off paint, but that's close to it. _Thistle_ on the outside and slightly forward, scouts screening, shocktroopers behind, engineers spread out across the rear, snipers where they think they're most needed. Rogers, I need you and the other lancers, plus an engineer to start working your way back down this thing, blowing apart the turrets as you go. We might have to make a fighting retreat of it, and I'd rather not be getting shot at from the side all the way down. _Move!_ "

They did so, Crichton pausing a moment to let the infantry get ahead before turning the tank to cut across the infantry's path while reaching his designated position.

Lannes kept his eyes on the approaching Imps, who didn't seem to be doing what he—or any sensible commander—would be doing in their situation, namely moving their front squad to flank while their second squad kept moving forward. Instead, they kept pushing forward, still in close order formation, and he wondered if whoever was in command was being pressured into it by Maximilian himself. Whatever the reason, that meant his men could probably bring down a lot more of the Imps before they had to fall back or die than they would have otherwise, and he was grateful for it.

 _Thistle_ slammed to a halt, and Lannes had the thought that this would have been the one time that the Gatling turret might have been useful. Then he remembered why that wasn't really true as Crichton lofted a mortar round directly into the center of the Imps' lead squad, blowing half a dozen of them into the air, followed by cracking sniper rifles and crumpling red-clad Imp infantry.

Then the scouts began to add their contribution to the harvest, and Lannes smiled coldly as more Imps began to fall. Then he frowned. This was a recon squad in front of him. Why weren't they holding in place, instead of moving in close where his shocktroopers could finish them off?

Then he saw the other two Imp squads double-timing forward, realized that both were probably assault squads, and knew what his counterpart was planning. He was going to run all three squads at him, and hope that at least one would be able to come to grips with the Gallians in front of him.

It wasn't what he would have done, but it could still cause him a lot of problems if they did get in range—and, unfortunately, they almost certainly would. He'd been able to pull off a fighting retreat in the Barious, yes, but these soldiers were moving much faster, and he had much less room to retreat in.

This was going to be an extremely bad few minutes, he thought, and he cursed as he saw the Imp assault squads shift into open order as the last members of the recon squad fell to the ground. Then he realized the second part of the Imp commander's plan as his scouts, masked originally by the recon squad, came to a halt and opened fire.

Four Gallian shocktroopers dropped, and while the Gallian scouts and snipers quickly ended the threat, he knew he'd be feeling the firepower deficit when the Imps finally closed—even with his scouts firing Randgrizers.

 _Thistle_ fired another mortar round, several Imps went up in the air, and the Imps finally got into MAG and Randgrizer range.

Lannes didn't have long to aim, but he didn't need much time.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

The red-clad shocktrooper he'd been aiming at dropped, and he knew at least some of the others had too, but the rest were coming to a halt to fire and two of them were aiming at him.

So he jumped down and to the right as they pulled their triggers, feeling the bullets smash into his left side and arm as he plummeted to the ground, thrown off by the bullets' impact.

He staggered to his feet, knowing that his uniform wasn't going to be able to take more than one or two bullets before the damage got to him, and lurched clumsily forward as best he could to get around _Thistle_ and into flamethrower range before the Imps could go after his troops.

The first Imp stepped out in front of him and began to turn, and he could see the man going for his flamethrower's trigger.

His finger, unfortunately for the Imp, was already on his.

FWOOOOOOOSH!

He started the arc just to the right of the shocktrooper, who flinched back as the blue flame licked out in front of him but didn't have time to go back any further before the fire caught him. For a quarter of a second Lannes had the thought that the other shocktrooper was going to come around right when he had to take his finger off the trigger for fear of overheating the fuel reservoir before he came into view and shrieked before he began to burn as well.

He moved forward, then, slowly, as his uniform began to recharge from the beating it had taken and he reloaded his MAG as fast as he could. All he knew about how his squad was doing was that there was still firing going on the other side of the tank, which could mean anything from Gallians finishing off retreating Imps to a continued close-quarters brawl.

He wasn't worried about his troops retreating. Not today, anyway.

When he came out from behind _Thistle_ he quickly assessed the situation.

To put it bluntly, it wasn't good, but it wasn't terrible.

The Imps and his troops were slugging it out, and Yancey and Guildenstern were the only shocktroopers still on their feet. The scouts and engineers had apparently fired their Randgrizers, though he hadn't heard them go off, as far more Imps were on the ground than could have been accounted for otherwise. They hadn't had time to reload, though, and were using their rifles to try and bring the attackers down or at least break their charge before they could claw their way into range again.

The Imps, however, seemed to understand what was at stake here as well as his men did, and they were still pressing forward.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

The shocktrooper closest to him crumpled to the ground, and the Imps paused—just in time for _Thistle_ to launch another mortar round into their line.

Several Imps—Lannes couldn't tell how many—flew up into the air, but they still had enough troops to bring down most of the rest of the squad.

Then they heard a great rumbling noise from behind and above them, and every head, Gallian and Imperial, snapped to where they could see the glowing white bulk of the giant lance, though some of it was hidden by the bulk of the _Marmota._

Then the rumbling was replaced by the sound of crumbling, as it first fell dark and then pieces began to fall from it, and Lannes imagined the great white lance completely falling apart and landing in pieces on the ground and on its carrier, and hopefully not on any Gallians. He'd be okay if some Imps were crushed by falling rocky bits.

Then his head snapped back around to where the Imps still stood, frozen, and he was about to give the order to fire when he saw one of them kneel down, place his weapon on the ground, and stand up again, hands in the air. The others followed him, and soon a dozen Imperial soldiers stood there, looking as beaten as their comrades taken at the Naggiar had been.

He stood there for a moment, frozen in shock, then recovered his senses.

"Squad 2, move to assist our wounded. Sergeant Crichton, keep covering these Imperials." He then spoke to the latter, using one of the few phrases he knew well, pointing away from the _Marmota_ with his MAG. "Move that way."

They complied, shuffling their feet as they walked, and he haltingly asked the nearest Imperial, "Why do you surrender?"

The man sighed and said, slowly, something about having lost all of their comrades between when they'd invaded Gallia and now, and that Maximilian had said something about how if they lost the Valkof—which, Lannes presumed, was the giant lance the _Marmota_ had been carrying, and where had they found that, anyway—they might as well quit.

That sounded like crazy talk to Lannes, but he had seen the Imps come apart time and again when their big fancy weapons didn't work out the way they'd planned, so he supposed that it wasn't completely insane to think they might surrender when this one last roll of the dice failed.

He waved the Imp on, and as he and his comrades walked away under _Thistle's_ guns, he looked to his troops.

Yancey and Rogers were standing closer together than was entirely appropriate for two team leaders on the battlefield, but since they were still facing towards where the Imps had come from he'd let it slide. Traherne was also still on his feet, looking grimly over the body-covered ground—far too much of which was blue. The rest of the able-bodied squad members were stabilizing the wounded, which reminded him of something, and he turned on his radio.

"Captain. Imperial forces in this area have surrendered. Multiple wounded. Requesting assistance."

"Understood, Lieutenant. Mina's heading your way. Good work. Hold position until she gets there, then load your wounded and move back towards the rear of the _Marmota_. "

"Thank you Captain"

He frowned. Where was Friedrich?

Then he saw Kat stabilizing a scout, and knew that that was where the corporal was. At least he was alive.

And, now he was finally able to really look at what was left of Squad 2, and he felt no rush. Only twelve of his troops were still able to fight, and he was grateful that the Imps had decided to surrender. If they hadn't, it would have been—bad.

Now all that remained was to count the rest of the cost.

* * *

Lannes stood and looked over the battlefield, the sweet taste of victory mingled with the bitterness of knowing that the cost of achieving it here had not needed to be paid.

Reports from the squads to the north of what his troops were already calling "the Gash" were that the Imps there had surrendered when the Valkof had gone dark and begun to crumble, just like those his squad had faced and those who'd fought Gunther's squad.

The Gallians had then sent said prisoners marching south, under the watchful eyes of the surviving tanks from the various squads, while the infantry had, after stabilizing the wounded, gotten them into the medics' vehicles and sent them back to the aid station set up once the shooting had stopped. That done, they had moved back towards the _Marmota's_ engines to regroup and decide what do next.

Meanwhile, Gunther and Squad 7 had scrambled up to the top of the land dreadnoughta few minutes ago, for some reason or other—and had somehow managed to get their tanks up there with them. Why the Imps had tank elevators on that thing he didn't know, and he really didn't care. As far as he was concerned, Welkin Gunther was personally responsible for every casualty suffered after Operation Maiden's Shield. He didn't know if Sergeant Melchiott could have used her Valkyria powers to cripple or destroy the thing, but given the damage he'd seen Selvaria and the sergeant inflict at the Naggiar, he was as sure as he could be without having seen her try it.

And he was certain that Gunther hadn't even tried to convince her to do so.

Come to think of it, he should probably throw at least some of the blame at Captain Varrot—

White light flared on top of the war engine, and his recriminations fled his mind as he joined his remaining troops in looking towards what looked like electrical transformers on top of giant poles that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

It also sounded like someone up there was shouting something or other.

He frowned.

Why could he even hear that someone was shouting? That was a long way up.

Then a beam of blue light shot out from what seemed to be the area the electricity seemed to be transmitted to, and his jaw dropped. Had the Imps figured out some way to create some kind of portable Valkyrian lance that didn't need a Valkyria to fire it?

He turned to look at what was left of his squad. They looked back at him. No one said a word.

"Follow me," he said simply, and began to walk towards the ramp that led into the _Marmota's_ interior. Maybe they could figure out some way to shut off the power to whatever that thing was.

If Gunther died up there, he might could forgive him. Might. He wasn't sure.

Those who could still fight from Falder's and Enjolras' squads were moving forward as well, which was good. Even if there weren't any Imp infantry in that thing, mechanics and such given rifles could be trouble—especially if, as Lannes suspected, they would outnumber the Gallians by ten to one or more, depending on how many crewmen such a machine needed.

He heard the sound of the _Edelweiss'_ main gun firing, and wondered what they were shooting at up there. Maybe the electrical devices?

As they climbed up the ramp and into the open space beyond, he didn't let himself notice just how large the thing was. No, he needed to keep an eye on two things: first, the way to the engine room, and second, whether or not there were any Imps around.

"Where're the Imps, sir?" Yancey asked, her voice echoing in the chamber, much as their footsteps and the noise of the engines were.

"Probably somewhere we won't like them being," Traherne replied. "Just keep watch."

Just as he finished, the chamber rocked from side to side, and the engines sounded like they were being brought up to the maximum power level.

What was going _on_ here? Was Maximilian planning on trying to flee back to the Empire in this thing?

Not if he had anything to say about it, and then he finally was able to see a door that had the Imperial for "engine room" stenciled above it.

"This way," he ordered, motioning towards it with his MAG, and he walked forward, ready to fill anyone who came through the door full of holes, since the only Gallians here were either behind him or above him.

When he was about to reach for the door, however, Guildenstern stepped into his field of view and shook his head as if to tell him that it was not the Lieutenant's job to open the door, but his.

Lannes stepped to the side, next to the door, and nodded. Guildenstern swung the door open, and nothing happened.

He was not going to complain, and motioned the private forward.

As they moved down the corridor, Lannes noticed that the noise from the engines was changing again—almost like they were starting to seize up. That could cause problems. If the engines on something like this caught fire—

The door at the end of the corridor slammed open, and a panicked black-clad Imp ran forward, oblivious to the fact that the corridor he was fleeing down was full of Gallians until he literally ran into Guildenstern and bounced back onto the floor.

Instead of backing away, though, he immediately got back to his feet and started talking very quickly.

Lannes couldn't catch most of what he was saying, but the words "run," "Prince Maximilian," "Valkyria" and a phrase that he did not understand but resulted in the fellow twirling his finger next to his ear. Then he saw more Imps coming their way, obviously running away from something, and he turned to the squad.

"Let's get out of here. _Move!_ "

It wasn't far to get back to where they came in, and as they ran down the corridor he hoped that Falder and Enjolras' squads hadn't moved into the bowels of this thing yet.

Just as he and Guildenstern reached the doorway, the Imp crewmen hot on their heels, the giant war machine _rocked_ as he heard a great explosion behind them, and he turned to look behind and see that the room at the end was consumed in flames.

"Get everyone as far away from here as possible!" he yelled as he emerged into the entrance chamber, but even as he did so he saw that his words weren't needed. Pipes were starting to burst, fires were breaking out, and explosions were starting to occur, and everyone, Gallian and Imperial alike, was running for their lives.

He side-stepped to avoid being trampled by the men behind him, took a quick look around to make sure that none of the Gallians were being left behind, and then ran pell-mell for the ramp.

As he sprinted, a sudden thought popped into his mind. How was Gunther's squad going to get down in time?

Then a great crashing noise came from behind and to his right, and he turned his head to see what it was.

It was the _Shamrock,_ which had apparently made it halfway down on one of the tank elevators before they'd finally completely lost power, hitting the floor of the hanger and somehow not exploding. In fact, it didn't even seem particularly damaged, since it started moving forward.

He _really_ didn't want to be there when the _Edelweiss_ ended up doing the same thing, and as his feet hit dirt he saw the infantry rounding up the _Marmota's_ crew, and turned around to see the troops from Gunther's squad run down the catwalks from the top of the machine as the _Edelweiss_ hit the floor.

As the tanks rumbled out, he smiled grimly. After this, the war was over. Right?

Then he looked closer as he saw Gunther's squad come together near to the ramp. Zaka and Czherny were poking their heads out of their tanks, and Corporal Stark and Sergeant Potter were rounding up the troops…where were Gunther and Melchiott?

Varrot ran forward. "Is anyone still up there?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am," Sergeant Potter replied. "Lieutenant and Alicia got cut off when the thing started going up. He ordered us to get off the thing before it exploded. I think they're tryin' to find…another…"

His voice trailed off as he looked to the sky, and Lannes turned to see something he'd never seen before in his life. It looked like some kind of bird, almost, but it was too big and moving too fast.

"He really made it work…" Potter said softly.

"What is that thing?"

"Isara started working on it before she died. It's a flying machine. Leon and the rest of us've been workin' on it for the past few months when we could get the time." He frowned. "Maybe he's tryin' t' get the boss off of that thing, but I don't see how…"

The plane disappeared behind the superstructure, and Lannes found himself wondering what he wanted to happen. If Gunther died, it would be appropriate. On the other hand, did Melchiott deserve it, since chances were that either both or neither would die?

He'd rather they lived. Maybe they might be able to make things right that way. Or at least, do more that way than if they were dead.

The plane came back around, and he lifted his binoculars to his face. Two figures hung off the wings.

They'd made it, and he lowered the binoculars and turned as he heard someone walking towards him.

"Lieutenant. There's something you need to retrieve."

 **A/N: Sorry about how late this is; FF wasn't letting me upload files. Also, allow me to note that the opinions of Heinrich Lannes are not necessarily those of the author.**


	26. In the Shadows

_The thing you have to remember, whenever a war's winding down, is that there's almost certainly going to be another war eventually. So it's best to start setting yourself in the best position you can to be ready for it, and the sooner the better, because everyone else's doing the same thing…_

Interview with a retired member of Atlantic Federation Intelligence, 1970

Heinrich Lannes was not especially happy, and had several excellent reasons not to be.

First, he'd just found out why Sergeant Melchiott had not used her Valkyria powers to reduce the _Marmota_ to a smoking wreck. She, had, apparently, _thrown her lance at it_ for…reasons that Captain Varrot didn't understand.

Second, Varrot had told him to retrieve the lance, despite not having a clue where it actually was. While she had been able to give some directions for where they could start looking from, she'd admitted that she had no idea how far the lance had gone before it stopped.

Third, they didn't have a medic with them. While he understood the logic—there were, after all, dozens of Gallian casualties back at the _Marmota_ who needed taking care of _,_ and Varrot wanted as few people as possible to know about what they were retrieving—that didn't mean he had to like it.

Fourthly, and finally, riding in the front seat of a truck that someone else was driving was something that he did not enjoy, especially when the driver was Sergeant Yancey, who he'd told to get them to the pass as fast as she could. He was presently wondering whether or not he should rethink that decision, but he reminded himself Varrot had told them that they needed to get there quickly.

Then again, she wasn't here, and the fact that Yancey apparently turned into a madwoman behind the wheel made him wish that the sergeant hadn't been one of the two surviving squad members who were both still on their feet and could drive, Seydlitz being the other.

Finally, he saw the entrance to the pass up ahead, and started looking for the rock outcropping Varrot had mentioned as the spot where Sergeant Melchiott had thrown her lance from. It should be right about— _there!_

"Stop here, Sergeant," he ordered, bracing himself as he did so, and Yancey immediately obliged by slamming her foot down on the brake as hard as she could. He was _still_ thrown forward as the truck came to a screeching halt, and he wondered if the transmission, the brakes, or anything else about the thing would ever be the same again, and spent a moment wondering if Seydlitz would stop in time.

He could hear the sounds of the troops in the back slamming into each other and the back of the cab over the sounds of the truck behind them screeching to a halt, and could just imagine the cursing that was going on back there.

"Right. Get out, but wait here a moment," Lannes said as he opened the door to the truck. "I'll make sure this is the right spot." He went around and gave the same orders to the others, then trudged over to the outcropping, hoping that he wouldn't have to check another one.

His hopes were not dashed—the rocks had the crossed rifle and spear that Varrot had described to him as the sign she'd put there after everyone else had left.

He called to the troops on the road. "Ivor! Seydlitz! Get over here."

As they came over, he pondered where to go from here. First, they'd need to find where the _Marmota_ had turned, since apparently that had happened right after Sergeant Melchiott had thrown her lance. Then they'd need to take a bearing from this point to that point, then follow it to the edge of the forest, then spread out and find where it had actually entered…

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

As they made their way back through the forest to where they'd entered it, Lannes marveled at how relatively quickly they'd been able to find the lance.

Once they'd had an idea of where to start looking, they'd found the path fairly quickly, since there had been a nearly exploded oak at the edge of the forest, which had been only been the beginning of a long path of broken branches and fallen trees that even a blind man could have followed.

It had been a bit of a pain in the neck to follow the trail, given that they'd had to hop over various bits of debris, go into and out of various ravines, and deal with underbrush, although there had been a few instances when the lance had carved them a path through brambles and other thick undergrowth.

As they'd followed the lance's flight, he'd worried about three possible outcomes—first, not finding any trace of the lance; second, finding out someone else had already taken it; and third, finding it stuck in an irretrievable position, like embedded in the center of a granite boulder.

Finding the lance broken would be one thing. Someone else having it would be quite another, and if it couldn't be found they would have to assume the worst. Finding it stuck in the middle of a hill, though, would mean they'd have to come back with some earthmoving equipment, which wouldn't do much for secrecy.

There was also the question of whether they'd be able to find the hole at the other end if the lance actually did go through a hill. Fortunately, that had only happened once, and they'd found where the lance had come out relatively quickly—although, much to his disappointment, you couldn't see daylight at the other end.

They'd finally found the thing in one of the most wildly improbable positions that he could have imagined—resting, perfectly balanced, in the fork of a tree. He'd really wished they had a camera, because no one was going believe the story when they told it.

Once they finally got it out of there, however, the real work had begun, as they carried the lance all the way back to the trucks, which was considerably more difficult than reaching it had been.

The Valkyrian lance was both heavier and bulkier than either the standard or mortar lance, which meant it required two soldiers to carry it. As could be expected, this had made going through the forest somewhat harder, as they had to take whatever path would let them get through and reasonably paralleled the trail of destruction they were following back to the trucks.

But they were finally at the edge of the forest, now, and were almost home free. All they needed was to go across a quarter-mile of open field, scramble over the Marmota's tracks—that wouldn't be easy, but it wouldn't take long—then go the last half-a-mile to get to the road and the trucks.

Then they could get the thing into one of the trucks, put it somewhere safe, report to Captain Varrot, get the rest of the squad together once they'd had a good night's rest, and then go take over one of the taverns in Randgriz and get thoroughly soused.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked this plan. Everyone could use a stiff drink or three.

As he stepped forward out of the woods, though, he suddenly stopped as something about what he could see just seemed—off. He couldn't explain why, but it did, and he was about to say something when Traherne, who had taken point, held his hand up in a signal to halt.

"Is something wrong, Sergeant?" Lannes asked quietly.

"I'm not sure," Traherne replied. "Something just doesn't seem right."

"Right. Cranmer. Marx. Go to the flanks and get in range of the trucks, then cover us."

The two snipers moved forward quietly as they split from the group, and Lannes nodded.

"Scouts in front. And stay sharp. We're not done yet."

 _I wish we were_ , he thought as they stepped forward.

As they moved forward across the field and negotiated the tracks, he found himself beginning to relax a bit, a feeling that only increased as they got closer to the trucks. Then he frowned. What if someone was planning on ambushing them as they loaded—

"Get down!" Traherne yelled, and as Lannes followed his example he heard the bullets fly through the space where he'd been a moment before.

He quickly poked his head up, only to need to hit the dirt and roll to the side as whoever they were started focusing on him. It looked like there was only a team's worth of men trying to nail them, and most of which seemed to be scouts—but not having a medic with them meant that any damage taken could be permanent—and someone could actually die.

 _Enough of that. Shut up and soldier,_ he told himself, and started to crawl forward as he heard two sniper rifles go off, and knew that at least that decision had been a good one. Bullets were still going by him, and he wondered if they were focusing their fire on him.

He hoped they were—on the ground like this, the uniform did a good enough job of protecting you that an entire MAG clip to the head wouldn't take you out of the fight—they'd tested that during one of the training exercises.

Hopefully everyone else would remember that, he thought as he heard the sound of the scouts and engineers returning fire, hopefully to some effect, and he decided to poke his head up again—just in time to see three enemy grenades arc towards where he'd last seen Traherne.

They went off, in an explosion that no scout could make it through intact.

Traherne went flying.

Lannes saw red, and realized a second later that he was on his feet and charging forward straight into however many of the enemy there were, but they seemed to be busy trying to dodge the snipers and scouts, and he could hear footfalls behind him as Yancey and Guildenstern followed him in.

He saw one of the men duck behind one of the trucks, and turned so that he'd be able to fire down the side when he got there.

As he came around the front, he saw the man starting to rise to his feet, rifle in hand, and another poking his head out from behind the truck's rear tire.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

Both men went down, but before Lannes had a chance to congratulate himself he staggered forward as five bullets went into his back. What an _idiot,_ he thought to himself as he frantically tried to reload and turn…

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

As he finished turning, he saw Yancey standing there, MAG at her hip, the two men who'd been hiding behind the other truck fallen at her feet.

Now where was Guildenstern?

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

He whipped around, and Guildenstern was standing at the other end of the truck, his gun pointed at the man falling to his knees in the grass.

"Good job, you two," Lannes said heavily, his back still shooting bolts of pain through him as he scrabbled in his pockets for some Ragnaid. "Sergeant Yancey."

"Sir!"

"You and Guildenstern come back with me. We should see to Sergeant Traherne. Valkyrur damn it."

 _Why you?_ he thought, then felt a sudden spike of anger as he noticed that none of the corpses on the ground were wearing uniforms—they were all in civilian clothing.

As they walked towards where Traherne lay on the ground, still not dead but about to die, he saw the others slowly drift in. They'd all learned from the old veteran, and now…

Seydlitz was there already. He'd done his best to stabilize him, but they were far enough away from anyone that he knew that Seydlitz had known it was futile. But there were things you just did for a man.

He dropped down to one knee next to the still form, as the others gathered around. He hadn't expected that Traherne would be giving some kind of inspiring death speech or something—that was the sort of thing you found in bad melodramas. But it still seemed wrong, somehow, for such a man to go out with hardly a word.

"Yancey. Guildenstern."

"Sir."

"Pick up Sergeant Traherne, and put him carefully into one of the trucks. We'll put the Valkyrian lance in the other one. We need to go."

"Yes, sir," Yancey replied, and as she and Guildenstern lifted the body, Lannes whispered, "See you in Valhal, Sergeant. I think your escort will be bigger than mine."

He turned to the others. "Get that carrion—" he swept his arm over the area where the enemy bodies lay "—search them and pile them up. We'll get some ragnite from the grenades and burn them. Also, get that lance into the truck and close the back gate. I don't want anyone to know we've got the thing except us, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" the squad chorused, voices full of anger and grief, and then proceeded to do as he'd ordered.

He went and helped search and stack the bodies of the dead. There wasn't much there—the weapons were all Imperial, but none of the dead men lookedlike they were Imps. In fact, they all looked like they came from Gallia or points west, which brought up some _very_ interesting questions.

"Sir!" Seydlitz yelled, and he turned to see two trucks coming down the road from Randgriz.

Atlantic Federation trucks.

This could be interesting, for all the wrong reasons.

"Get ready!" Lannes snapped. "We all know what they're here for," he continued, not even glancing at the truck with the weapon in it, "but I don't think they're going to want a fight. If they do, I want them all dead. If I signal, blow them to Hel."

"Understood, sir," Yancey replied, and soon the entire squad was in position to cover the road without anyone blocking someone else's line of fire. It wasn't the least threatening way to meet troops from what was at least a nominal ally, but as he stood in the road watching the truck come his way, he found that he couldn't bring himself to care.

The Feds came to a halt just out of MAG and Randgrizer range, the lead truck's passenger door swung open, the passenger jumped out and came around the door, and Lannes had to restrain his jaw from dropping as Major Miles Hayworth came to a halt in front of him.

"Lieutenant Lannes," he said, looking around at the grim-faced Gallians who were very obviously not pointing their weapons towards him but could so with barely a twitch, "I rather wish that we had met again under less…fraught circumstances. May I ask what happened before I arrived here?"

"Once you tell me why you're here to begin with, Major," Lannes replied, not as coldly as he might have otherwise. "This is Gallian territory."

"I was ordered to retrieve something, if I could find it. And I suspect you know what it is."

"Fair enough. What happened beforehand was that my squad was ambushed by men who carried Imperial weapons but don't exactly look like they're from Eastern Europa. In fact, they look like they came from your territory."

Hayworth frowned. "What?"

"We have the bodies over there," Lannes said, pointing at the line of corpses. "Would you like to see them?"

"Yes, I would."

When he got to the bodies, he didn't need to look past the first one to start cursing.

When he was done, Lannes asked, "You knew these men?"

"They…were…soldiers stationed at the embassy. All of them transferred in together shortly after the…incident a few months ago. That man on top was the highest-ranking one, a Lieutenant Clairsource. The ambassador requisitioned him and some soldiers. He must have been using us as cover." He cursed again, and looked at Lannes. "What are we going to do about this? Ten of our soldiers are dead."

"Whatever you did with those special forces men Gunther's squad killed. Or say they were suborned by the Empire, and were therefore criminals."

"And what I came for?"

"It wasn't there, and you don't know who has it. Doubtless the lieutenant would have made off with it if it was still here."

Hayworth was about to open his mouth, but shut it when Lannes held up his hand. "Don't push me on this, Major. My squad sergeant was killed by these men. I'm willing to consider this a fair trade."

Hayworth nodded. "Agreed. Besides," he said wryly, "I don't think searching your trucks would be survivable."

"It wouldn't be," Lannes agreed, "although you can look around after we leave, if you like. Also, do you want the bodies back?"

"Yes, please. We have extra space in the trucks. Thank you." He stuck out his hand. "We should talk sometime when one wrong move won't set off a firefight."

Lannes shook it. "Agreed."

* * *

Twenty-four hours later, Heinrich Lannes walked down the stairs of a tavern on the border between the Darcsen Quarter and the rest of the city. Some of the squad—the ones he trusted for this, anyway—were already there, sitting around two tables they'd slid together. Friedrich was there, looking a little haggard but content, which was understandable given that Kat was snugly against his side and he had a mug of beer in his hand. Ivor, van Reenan, Cranmer, and a few others were also there, celebrating the recently announced end of hostilities in subdued fashion.

But that wasn't what he was here for—at least not yet—and he made his way to the far corner of the room, where three people, of whom the one in the middle was succeeding at concealing her face, sat, all facing the doorway.

He slid into the only open chair, and looked at the two on the ends. "Captain Varrot. Captain Vredefort." He dipped his head slightly, and said, more softly, "Your Highness."

Varrot leaned forward. " _Lieutenant—_ "

"Captain," he said, flatly, "I know she'd rather not be known. But first, I found out that you and her had a _very_ intense—and brief—discussion before you found me. Second, right now, my girlfriend is providing my squad sergeant's sister with a shoulder to cry on while she grieves for said squad sergeant, who died yesterday due to getting blown up by multiple grenades while on the mission. Right now, that's where I _should_ be, but at your orders, I came here. So please don't take it amiss when I say that I want some answers. Now."

Varrot glared at him, but Vredefort snorted. "I told you he wasn't stupid, Captain," he said, and Lannes turned his head to look at him. "Oh, and it's Major, now. Her highness informed me two hours ago."

"Congratulations. You're heading the office, then?" The conversation they'd had less than a week ago—had it really been that short a time?—had been extremely enlightening about what his former boss actually did.

Vredefort smiled. "I will be. Apparently, not being able to detect an incipient coup isn't good for one's career prospects."

"Ah?" This was news to him.

"Chancellor Borg handed Her Highness over to Prince Maximilian when he ran the _Marmota_ into the castle, though apparently the prince had him shot immediately afterward. When I went through his quarters this morning, I found evidence that he and General Damon were plotting a coup once the war was over."

That made a lot of things that had happened during the war make a lot more sense.

"Her Highness," Vredefort continued, "asked Captain Varrot who she trusted."

The captain nodded. "I said I trusted Major Vredefort." She wrinkled her nose, slightly. "Then she asked who I would trust to retrieve what you were sent for."

"Why not Gunther?" Lannes asked.

The princess spoke then, quietly enough that he had to lean forward to hear her. "Lieutenant Gunther and Sergeant Melchiott are good people, and uncomfortable with the powers Sergeant Melchiott wielded. I do not condemn their choice—"

 _That makes one of us,_ Lannes thought.

"—but that choice showed that they could not be trusted to retrieve it. You were the next choice." She paused. "I'm sorry about your sergeant. But I must know if you found what you were looking for."

"He was a good man," he said quietly. "And yes, I was."

"Where is it?" Varrot asked.

"Somewhere safe," Lannes replied. "Guarded by members of my squad who don't know what it is they're guarding, just that it's valuable. May I ask what you're planning on doing with it?"

Vredefort leaned forward himself. "The only people who know that Gallia no longer has a Valkyria of our own are the people at this table, the leaders of Squad 7, and Irene Ellet."

"Pardon?"

"Yes," Varrot said, somewhat unhappily, though Lannes wasn't sure why. "When Lieutenant Gunther talked Sergeant Melchiott down from going out the way Selvaria Bles did, she deactivated her Valkyria powers, we think permanently."

"And…?"

"And this war won't really resolve anything," Vredefort said flatly. "Neither the Federation nor the Empire is willing to fight to the finish, and we certainly aren't. And all the problems that led to the first war, and this one, are still going to be there. Give it another twenty years, and there will be another."

"Also," the princess said softly, "I believe you know that I have decided to reveal myself as a Darcsen. This could cause…unrest, though I believe it necessary."

Lannes, for his part, wondered how the House of Randgriz had kept a secret like that for close to two millennia, but kept his mouth shut.

Vredefort spoke again. "We're still counting the dead, but the estimates are that the war cost us nearly eighty thousand military deaths, and probably ten thousand or more civilian ones. Some of those losses are being made up for by rescued Darcsens and other refugees from the Empire, but not nearly enough. To make matters worse, most of those casualties were suffered among those who were either of marriageable age or were about to be. After the casualties we took in the first war…"

His voice trailed off, and Lannes nodded. "We can't afford a third war, can we?"

"Not like this one. And not like the last one. It's not just the people, it's also the industry. It'll take us years just to get back to where we were before the war, and that's assuming that we don't have a civil war, which I doubt. It'll be a decade or more before we recover."

"And with the Federation and the Empire each looking for a way to get an advantage in the next war, we'll be a target."

"Yes. Even if we survive another invasion like the last one, we'll be crippled for decades. Which is where what we sent you to find comes in."

"You intend to find another," Lannes stated. It was all coming together now. Find someone with the potential to become a Valkyria, activate them, and then use the threat to either prevent an invasion from happening or to destroy it before it could cause Gallia serious harm. And, of course, activating the powers would possibly require the lance and…

"What about the other part, the shield?"

"I have it," Varrot replied. "Sergeant Melchiott dropped it, and I took it for safekeeping. Either you or Major Vredefort will receive it within the next two days."

The princess spoke again. "As the captain implied, there is a further role you may take, if you wish it."

"What would that be?"

"I'm resigning," Varrot said, and Lannes chuckled.

"Going to start a farm with Sergeant Potter, I take it?"

Varrot appeared somewhat taken aback by the fact that Lannes knew about the worst-kept secret in the 3rd Militia, but only said "Yes. The 3rd will need a new commander for the peacetime cadre—and it's going to be a bit larger than it was before the war."

"Oh?"

"Three-quarters of the regular army is gone, and we need troops to watch the borders while it rebuilds itself. We're designating certain units as 'active militia'—regiments that will be kept at third- to half-strength, instead of being reduced to skeletons manned by some officers and noncoms—which will be used to watch the borders and the like."

Lannes suspected he knew where Varrot was going with this, but he was willing to let her continue.

"If you were to accept this assignment, you would have two tasks. First, to provide some measure of security in the Ghirlandaio area. Second, to protect what you were sent to retrieve, in coordination with Major Vredefort."

"How would we keep this quiet?"

Vredefort spoke. "I'll be continuing my cover as the owner of Vredefort Import/Export—I'll just be expanding, and moving the headquarters to Randgriz in a few years. Years that I'll be using to train the new head of the Ghirlandaio branch office—you."

Lannes blinked. "I'm flattered, but do you really think I can run the business profitably? And won't I be a bit busy with the regiment?"

Vredefort smiled slightly. "Miss Firenze can make up for most of your weaknesses. I believe she would be happy to assist you."

That was true, Lannes acknowledged, but…

"I'm not dragging her into this unknowingly," he said flatly. "I won't tell her any of the details, but I'll not have her making any decisions without knowing that something dangerous is going on. Because this will be dangerous."

Though that last sentence had been more a statement than a question, Vredefort and Varrot both nodded.

"Which brings me to another question, Captain," Lannes said flatly. "You seem to be going along with this. Why?"

"I'm not quite sure—"

"You never ordered Gunther to actually use Sergeant Melchiott's powers, when she could have used them to deal with the gates of the Citadel—or, for that matter, the _Marmota._ So why are you willing to do this now?"

"Because I didn't want Damon to know that Sergeant Melchiott's powers were still available, because I didn't trust him, and because I thought the Royal Guard could bring the _Marmota_ down. Then I thought we could do it without losing anyone, like we had every time except when we'd faced Selvaria—or the Marberry." She paused, and looked down at the table. "I was wrong."

"There's more to it than that."

"Yes, there is. Sergeant Melchiott was forced into that role. She did not ask for it, it was obvious that she didn't want to play it, and I wasn't going to force her to. However, Lieutenant Landzaat's actions saved us at the Naggiar, and I would have recommended releasing him without charges, had he not escaped and then sacrificed himself on the _Marmota._ To be able to use a Valkyria of our own—it's necessary, but I do worry."

That sounded reasonable enough, although he wasn't sure if an officer responsible for the lives of the soldiers under her command should have been thinking that way regarding Sergeant Melchiott.

He then realized that he wasn't nearly as angry with her as he had been, and he wondered why. Then it hit him—she'd admitted that she'd messed up, and messed up badly. That wouldn't bring Berthelmy, Kanawa, or Traherne back, but he couldn't hate Varrot. He still needed to clear a few things up, though.

"So is there anything else you want me to do in addition to what we've already talked about?" he asked.

"Yes," Vredefort replied, "but not here. Later."

Lannes nodded. "Yes sir. If you three will excuse me, I need to go talk to those soldiers over there," he inclined his head to where his squad members were occasionally casting glances in his direction, "before they decide I don't like them anymore." He smiled thinly. "I think some of them might be useful for what's coming. And then, I'm going to go talk to Julia. How should I tell you about my decision?"

"I'll be in the palace. I still haven't finished searching Chancellor Borg's rooms."

"Understood," Lannes replied, and stood up.

"Lieutenant," her highness Princess Cordelia gi Randgriz said quietly.

"Ma'am?" he responded, conscious of the fact that it wasn't the proper title but he didn't want to actually blow her cover.

"Thank you."

* * *

When he finally made it back to where the 4th Field Kitchen had been moved, along with the rest of the 3rd Brigade, in order to provide some level of security for Randgriz, now that there was a massive hole in the city wall and the Royal Guard didn't exist anymore, he wasn't sure how he was going to explain all this to Julia.

How much could he say without compromising security? How much could he withhold without lying to her? Was he going to be able to talk to her, or would she be too busy consoling Sergeant Frake?

So it was with some level of trepidation that he approached the spot where he'd been told that Julia and Frake were, which, due to the fact that the Royal Guard's kitchens were intact, was not on duty. Instead, they were in a small alcove near the palace, with several of their fellows providing an unobtrusive but intense shield.

They let him through, but it was obvious that if either Julia or Frake found his presence unwelcome, he would be thrown out on his ear in short order. So it was with some relief that he saw Frake asleep on one of the benches, with Julia sitting on the other. She looked up when she heard him approach, and a wan smile touched her lips.

"How is she?" he asked quietly, gesturing at the sergeant.

"Better," Julia said softly, "but I'd like to let her sleep, if we can."

Something of what he'd come to do must have shown on his face, because hers grew a look of concern. "What is it, Heinrich?"

"Do you mind if I sit?"

"Of course not," she replied, and moved over to give him enough room. "What do you need to tell me?" she asked as he settled in, and he was reminded that an intelligent girlfriend was a two-edged sword. An intelligent wife, even more so.

On the other hand, such a sword could serve Gallia well. And, for that matter, would never be boring to live with.

"There's a certain question I'd like to ask you, sometime soon," he began, and one side of Julia's mouth quirked upward slightly. "But before I do, I need to tell you what I've been asked to do." He paused. "I've been asked to watch some important things. Things I can't tell you about right now, but can later. It could be dangerous, because these are things that other people might want, and there might be a civil war in Gallia, and—"

" _Heinrich,_ " Julia said, softly but firmly.

He paused, surprised by the interruption. "What?"

"Does this have anything to do with why Sergeant Traherne died?"

"Yes."

"Will doing this help keep something like that from happening again?"

He decided to answer honestly. "That's the idea."

She nodded decisively. "Then the rest doesn't matter. I'm in."

"You are?" Heinrich replied, not surprised by her answer but somewhat surprised that it had come so quickly.

" _Yes._ Valkyrur curse it, Heinrich, you don't think I know just as well as you that Gallia isn't out of danger even though Maximilian's defeated? I didn't call you on it because I knew you weren't supposed to tell anyone, but I know what happened after you and I parted ways that midsummer night. And I know there are people who want to use the war to try and get an advantage for themselves." She smiled sadly. "I'd almost think less of you if you didn't do whatever it is you're doing. And don't you _dare_ try and protect me from it."

Heinrich nodded. He'd expected nothing less. "I won't ask you now. But once you're demobilized…"

"That's time enough," she said, and kissed him.

 **A/N: This is not the end of the story. There's a two-part interlude and an epilogue left, so stay tuned.**


	27. Between the Wars I

_One of the difficulties that_ any _army has is that there is no way to determine who has the qualities of a commander and who does not until battle is joined. Most armies at least attempt to promote soldiers who exhibit those qualities that can be found in peacetime, hoping that they will exhibit the others when the time comes…another difficulty is that the qualities that make a good soldier are necessary but not sufficient to make a good commander, and the one addition makes for a bad soldier, and a bad commander, if the other qualities are not present in sufficient quantity. I refer to the capacity to sacrifice others…_

Excerpted with permission from _Teaching War: Educating Future Officers,_ Colonel Thomas Boxman; St. Hurst Academy Press; 1980

Mr. and Mrs. Adrian Lannes request the honor of your presence at the wedding of their son, Captain Heinrich Lannes, and Miss Julia Firenze on June 19, 1936 at the Templehof Arms in Ghirlandaio Town

Time: 4:00 PM

Dinner and Reception Afterward

Open Bar

Please indicate number of guests

* * *

Lannes stood in a dark alleyway next to Nils Daerden, watching the street carefully. This part of Randgriz wasn't especially safe at the best of times, but with all the refugees from the civil war, it was much more dangerous than usual.

"That's them," the big gang leader said quietly, unobtrusively indicating the four men walking towards them in a group.

"You're sure?" Lannes asked skeptically. They looked like street thugs to him.

"Yes." Daerden inclined his head towards another group, similar to the first to Lannes's eye. "Look at both of them. Look for differences."

Lannes furrowed his brow for a moment as he peered first at one group, then the next, and nodded. The first group was simply more…professional. Less swagger, more care, more coordination…that was them.

"How did you find out?" he asked quietly.

"I know about everything important on the black market in Randgriz," Daerden said flatly. "Explosives are on the list. Heard someone was looking for a lot of them, so I did some digging and found these. Not your usual criminals. Thought they were in your department. So I sent a message to your boss."

Who had then sent him to look into it, with the cover story that he was meeting with business associates. And the men almost certainly were his department. They looked like they were from Western Europa, and if they were looking for explosives they were probably working with Federation intelligence.

He sighed. This was the third time something like this had happened, and Vredefort's orders had been clear.

"Mr. Daerden," he said quietly. "How much would it cost to make sure these gentlemen were no longer a problem to anyone, ever again?"

"Nothing up front. Don't like people messing with my country." Daerden cracked his knuckles. "There might be…expenses. But I don't think they'll amount to much."

Lannes nodded. "If you could bring us any papers or special equipment they have, we'll pay for that."

The other man grunted. "Agreed. That's more trouble than arranging the hit."

"Done." Lannes paused. "When?"

"Two days. They're still looking for some other bomb-making supplies, so that should be how long it takes."

Three days later, four bodies were found floating in the river, and Heinrich Lannes, who had learned to drive out of necessity, delivered a small suitcase to an apartment on the edge of the Darcsen Quarter, unloaded a small delivery truck at Castle Randgriz, and then went back to Ghirlandaio.

No Federation agents ever attempted to assassinate Cordelia gi Randgriz again, or enact any other overt sabotage.

* * *

"Princess Cordelia has formally accepted the surrender of the Gallian Revolutionary Army."

Lannes didn't hear the rest of the announcement—he was far too busy feeling a heavy weight roll off of his shoulders.

For more than a year, he and Vredefort had been bluffing everyone who might have decided to openly intervene in Gallia while the country was tearing itself apart. The artificial Valkyria project at Lanseal had produced a slight problem—after all, why create an inferior version if you had the original?—but they'd managed to convince the Feds and the Imps that Kluivert and Forster hadn't known about what was available to the Gallian government.

Of course, it had helped that they weren't completely lying. There were at least two non-depowered Valkyria in Gallia, presently. One of them had been in Squad 422, whose members had all dropped off the map at the end of the war, and the other had sworn never to use her powers again, but they existed. Fortunately, the only people who knew those last two bits of information were Gallians, and they weren't saying a word.

"At least _that's_ over," his wife said from behind him, and he turned to look at Julia, who looked at him with a…peculiar…smile. "Which is extremely good, because while I would've done it, I did not want to carry a child through a civil war."

 _That makes two of us_ , Heinrich thought as he rose from his chair to embrace the future.

* * *

(Randgriz Commercial, April 9, 1937)

NEW COMPANY IN TOWN

Marcus Vredefort, head of Vredefort Import/Export, has announced that he is moving the headquarters of his company from its previous location in Ghirlandaio to Randgriz. When asked why he would make such a change, he pointed to the fact that his company had diversified since the war, and was now involved in brokering trade between companies in both the Federation and the Empire instead of solely the latter. As he put it, "Being almost on the Imperial border made sense when we were mainly trading with Imperial companies. Now that we're branching out, we need to move to a more central location."

He also announced that the new head of the Ghirlandaio branch office would be Heinrich Lannes, currently a junior partner in the firm and commander of the 3rd Militia Regiment (Active). When asked how well he thought Lannes would run the new branch office, given his other responsibilities, Vredefort laughed and said, "He's practically been running the place for the past six months. He's ready."

* * *

Heinrich Lannes nodded as Kat, Ivor, and van Reenan put the wood paneling back into place exactly as the construction crew had left it.

"Excellent," he said with a grin. "It's like nobody moved a thing."

Ivor grinned back. "Glad to be of service, sir," he said, but the grin faded as he continued, "Do you think they'll be safe here, sir? It seems a little…obvious."

Lannes' grin didn't fade. "It's called hiding something in plain sight. Who'd think to look for the lance and shield in the stair support column of my house? Besides, it's a sight better than where we had it."

Kat grimaced. "That's not hard, sir."

"Oh, lighten up. No one even glanced at the lance and shield when we announced that they were replicas meant to replace the stolen ones."

"Whose idea was that, anyway?"

"Julia's. Some old detective story called _The Stolen Missive_. Neat trick."

* * *

Heinrich Lannes really wasn't sure what he thought of this "election" business, even though he was standing in line to participate in it. He knew it could work, of course—the countries that had formed the Atlantic Federation proved that, right enough—but it was just…strange, and he could tell that many others felt the same way.

Not that they were unhappy with the idea. He and Vredefort had had a hand in that, leaking, with the Princess's approval, what Borg and Damon had planned for after the war, and what Gennaro Borgia had almost done. That had primed the pump for some kind of reform, and while the aristocrats' civil war had delayed the process, their loss had only made it the more certain.

He and Julia wouldn't be voting the same way, he knew. She saw the monarchy as part and parcel of a system that she utterly despised, even though she allowed that Princess Cordelia was doing her best to change it. He…well, there were a lot of people who talked about necessary symbols and whatnot. But for him, he'd sworn his oath to defend the crown and the country, and that was all there was to it.

Surprisingly, he wasn't worried about how the election would go. Attempts by Federation and Imperial spies to interfere by supporting extremists of one sort or another had been ferreted out and exposed quickly, what attempts there had been at unlawful domestic interference had been quashed, mostly, and from what he could tell the Crown Loyalists were favored to win.

* * *

(Ghirlandaio Courier, June 19, 1939)

CROWN LOYALIST PARTY WINS PLURALITY

Yesterday's election for the Gallian Parliament resulted in four of the twelve parties that fielded candidates breaking the 5% threshold to gain seats in the lower chamber. The Crown Loyalist Party received the most votes overall, with 40% of the ballots, while the Conservative and Republican Parties each received around 25%, the Yggdist Party took 6%, and the other eight split the remaining 4%.

Konrad Schermerhorn, head of the Crown Loyalist Party, and Theodora Motz, head of the Republican Party, announced early this morning that they would be forming a coalition government. In a joint statement, they said "While we disagree about the future of the monarchy, that is our only significant point of disagreement. We believe we will be able to put aside this difference to work together to ensure a better future for our country and our children."

* * *

"What do you think of the Imperial airship designs?" Lannes asked.

Leon Schmidt looked up from the blueprints. "They're a marvel, bro. Not as good as the Feds' designs—heavier, slower—but I think that's 'cause they can't get what they need to make it as good as the Feds. See this stuff?" he pointed to several places that were absolutely meaningless to Lannes. "That's the sort of thing you put in place when you don't have access to top-quality materials or designers."

He smiled. "Which we and the Feds do."

"Do you think we should build airships ourselves?" Lannes was technically going beyond the scope of his orders—he wasn't supposed to make policy—but Schmidt's assessment of how to counter airships would be useful to put in his report.

Schmidt shook his head. "No way, bro. We could make them better, but not enough to make up for the numbers we'd face." He paused and rubbed his chin. "No, we need something small and agile that can rip up the gas bags."

He frowned. "I'd hate to do it. Don't think Isara would've liked it much."

"What?"

"If you put a Gatling, a Theimer, or a Ruhm on something like the Isara-1, that would probably do the trick. But I don't know if it could take off…you'd need a better engine, stronger fuselage…" He paused. "Sorry, bro. Nearly lost myself, there. But yeah, tell Marcus what I told you, and tell him I'm working on something that might help. But don't expect anything too soon."

"Thank you, Mr. Schmidt," Lannes said as he got up and put the blueprints back in the suitcase. "We're in your debt."

The designer waved a hand. "No problem, bro. You've just given me a challenge, and I like it."

* * *

Heinrich Lannes looked up blearily as Julia Lannes came into his office. She was wearing different clothes than when he'd seen her last. They weren't nicer than the clothes she'd been wearing then, either.

Then he looked at the twenty-four hour clock that was by his desk, and saw that it was only five minutes after the last time he'd looked at it.

Then he thought about everything he'd done since the last time he'd looked at the clock.

Then he looked at his wife.

"Please tell me that I told you I wouldn't be coming home last night."

"You did," she said, mouth quirking up slightly. "Yesterday morning. You also said that you probably wouldn't be back until tonight."

"Oh good," he replied, falling back in his chair. "I didn't just forget." He looked up. "This is the third time this month I've left you to take care of our children by yourself. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted, but unnecessary," she said quietly. "This sort of thing doesn't happen often, and when it does they need you here."

That was entirely true. One of their networks that was helping keep the Fhiraldian guerrillas going—and it was so good to fight with Jaeger instead of against him—had been compromised, and coordinating the evacuation and sanitization had required his presence to make the calls that needed to be made. Who could be pulled out? Who would have to be left to their own devices? And, most painfully, who couldn't be allowed to be captured alive?

His part had ended an hour ago, but he'd been sitting at his desk since then, doing…nothing. It occurred to him that it was a good thing that he'd gotten her cleared to the same level as him.

And while he'd leaned on the agents assigned to clear her, he'd leaned on them to make it _harder_ for her. Something she didn't know, and he wouldn't tell her.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" he asked quietly, and she not-quite-chuckled, as she so often did.

"The same thing I did to deserve you," Julia told Heinrich. "Absolutely nothing. Now, come on. They tell me you're done, and supper's waiting for you." She lowered her voice. "If you need to talk about anything…"

"Tomorrow. Right now, I want to prove to myself that this is worth it." He stood, slowly, feeling the weight of his decisions. "And seeing our children will help with that."

 **A/N: My thanks to GJO1088 for reminding me that the "R" in the GRA stands for "Revolutionary."**


	28. Between the Wars II

_When the Second Europan War ended, there were many who declared that this would be the last war between the Federation and the Empire, as both wars had been utterly inconclusive. Unfortunately, the ragnite question, which had caused both wars, still remained, and the Empire believed that it could have won the war, were it not for unexpected reverses in Gallia. Those who understood this knew that if they did not prepare for another war, the result would be catastrophic, and so they prepared…_

Excerpted with permission from _War by Other Means: A History of Gallian Intelligence, 1935-1956_ , Riley Melbourne; Varrot Books; 1980

Heinrich Lannes watched the exercise carefully as the Gallian mechanized infantry attacked the opposing force's line. It was mostly Imperial equipment, of course, and they were using Imperial tactics, but it was considered impolitic to outright say that Gallia's military trained to fight the Empire.

"Do you miss it, Heinrich?" Marcus Vredefort, officially here as a visiting dignitary, asked him.

"Sometimes," Lannes replied. The 3rd Militia had been downgraded from Active status shortly before he'd taken over the office in Ghirlandaio, largely because the system was no longer necessary, as the Regular Army had been rebuilt to something that could defend Gallia again—and was led by men who reminded him of Major Ritterbach rather than General Damon. "But I miss it less and less as I grow older."

"Speaking of that," Vredefort added quietly, "In the event of my passing or retirement, you'll head both companies. I'll try to hand it off one at a time, but I can't promise that."

"Why me?"

"Your politics are 'keep Gallia safe, nothing else matters.'" Vredefort smiled. "As it happens, those are my politics as well. And, most importantly, Her Highness shares that view."

* * *

"Colonel Hayworth."

"Captain Lannes. It's good to see you," the Federation officer said as they shook hands. "It's been a few years."

"Yes, it has," Lannes said as he looked out at the throne room. It was the tenth anniversary of the destruction of the _Marmota_ , and in addition to the usual dignitaries, everyone from the 3rd Militia—or, in the case of those who hadn't survived the battle, their families—had been invited.

"How are the kids?"

"They're doing well—Julia sends her regards, but she couldn't make it tonight. Finn and Louis both have the flu, and Maria's still teething."

"Planning on a fourth?"

Lannes shrugged. "We'll see. Julia swears that she's not having another child, but that's what she said after Louis."

Hayworth smiled. "There's been a lot of change since the war."

"Not everything, though."

"No, not everything," Hayworth agreed quietly, and stepped closer to Lannes. "For example, Gallia is still rich—but also very well protected. A good thing."

"Very. Nothing artificial about it, either."

"Aside, of course, from that defense network you built down the _Marmota_ 's path through the Kloden Wildwood. And whatever it is you're doing near where the Citadel used to be."

"Of course," Lannes replied. "But Gallia will always rely on its sons—and its daughters."

The required verbal fencing match concerning Valkyria concluded, they turned to less fraught topics.

"Have you heard about the latest Imperial airship experiment?"

"Yes. They're a bit behind you, from what I've seen in the papers." Lannes looked around briefly.

"As expected. The Empire's driven out some of their best engineers and designers. Which reminds me, I saw yesterday's demonstration that Mr Schmidt gave of his new airplane model. Very impressive. I am curious as to why you've pursued that to the exclusion of airships, though."

Lannes shrugged. "I'm just a militia captain who lives on the Imperial border, Colonel, when I don't run a branch of an import/export business. But I do know this—Gallian doctrine has always been to finish fights, not start them, and right now aircraft can't do much more than defend us against things like, say, airships." He smiled. "Which I think they'd do rather well, if it came to that."

* * *

"You're serious?" Julia asked.

Heinrich nodded. "It's true. She has no intention of marrying and producing an heir."

Julia frowned. "Why not?"

"I thought you didn't like the monarchy," he teased, as they sat under a tree and watched their children play.

"Well, I don't," she replied, "but I don't know why she wants to leave the throne to someone she doesn't even know. That's what happens when the monarch doesn't produce an heir, right? It goes to the nearest cousin or something, and with our luck it'd be someone who wishes the Civil War had gone the other way!"

Heinrich winced. She had a point. But he hadn't quite finished yet…

"There's something else. She plans to make it her final wish that she be the last ruler of the Grand Duchy of Gallia."

"Why?" The question might have seemed odd to another man, coming from a diehard Republican, but Heinrich knew his wife carried it as an article of faith that monarchs would seek to preserve the idea of monarchy. This sort of shift made her suspicious.

"She didn't say. But I think she thinks she's an anachronism, and I don't think she wants to raise a child in the same straitjacket she was confined in. The few times she's spoken of her childhood in my presence, it hasn't been with fondness."

"That makes sense," Julia said after some thought, which wasn't surprising. She'd met Her Highness a few times, and had commented on the fact that she thought of others far more than most other aristocrats did. "So why not abdicate now?"

Heinrich shrugged. "Something about providing a pole of stability while we get this whole Parliament thing sorted out. We only had our second election last year, and look how that went."

Julia nodded unwillingly. The Intelligence Service had, as in the last election, done yeoman work in investigating and quashing foreign interference. Unfortunately, this time they'd spread their net wide, and it wasn't merely extremists who had been suborned.

 _Every_ party had lost at least one candidate due to what Lannes' men and women had found, and in one local election _every candidate_ on the ballot had been found taking money from either the Imps or the Feds, requiring a complete do-over. That, however, had been a minor story compared to the accusations and counter-accusations of the perfidy of various party leaders, which Heinrich Lannes thought was silly. There was no evidence of any kind of effort at coordination with foreigners from the leadership of any of the parties—which, truth be told, had surprised him.

At any rate, when the election finally happened and all the dust settled, the Crown Loyalist/Republican coalition had stayed in power, but several of the smaller regional and single-issue parties had consolidated into the Localist Party, which had managed to scrape together enough votes to cross the threshold for seats in Parliament. Their representatives had made quite a nuisance of themselves, but done little more. While the fact that everyone seemed willing to have a third election boded well, the new regime was still more fragile than any sane person wanted.

"I suppose you're right," she said slowly, and Heinrich kept a straight face while grinning slightly on the inside. There was one more thing that he needed to mention, though.

"And no, you don't get to tell your friends that they'll get what they want without even trying," he added, and Julia let out a sound that wasn't quite a chuckle.

"Of course not. It would spoil all their fun."

* * *

"Dr. Riebeek, thank you for seeing me," Lannes said as he stepped into the office of the Bruhl town doctor.

"Not at all. Major Heinrich Lannes, isn't it?" the middle-aged man said as he stood. "I will say that I wasn't expecting a soldier to come here—especially not so quickly."

Lannes faked a smile. "The Gallian military takes an interest in all medical anomalies." _Especially when they involve the daughter of a Valkyria._ "Could you tell me a bit more about what led to you writing that letter to the Ministry of Health?"

"Certainly," the doctor said excitedly. "Sit, please."

As soon as they'd settled in, he began talking. "It was about a week ago. I'd taken the day off to go see my mother. Well, young Isara Gunther—Welkin and Alicia Gunther's daughter—did you know that Welkin is General Belgen Gunther's son?"

"Yes, actually. He and I were in the same unit back in the war."

"Ah, yes. Well, I suppose I don't need to tell you about what he did, then," he said with a beatific smile.

 _No, you really don't,_ Lannes thought. Twelve years was enough time for the anger to dissipate, but not enough for its causes to go unremembered.

"Well, Isara fell out of a tree and broke her arm." He grimaced. "Compound fracture—my assistant, who was on duty at the time because I was away attending to a bedridden farmer, took a picture of it before he took care of the thing." He rummaged around in his desk for a moment. "Here it is."

Lannes whistled. The broken end of the bone was sticking out of the arm. She'd fallen _hard._

"So what happened next?"

"Well, I went to see her a few days later. As I'm sure you know, broken limbs are usually extremely tender for days or weeks afterwards. But when I knocked on the cast, she didn't even flinch. Naturally, I was a little alarmed, but I was soon able to determine that she still had feeling in that arm by slipping a pipe cleaner between her arm and the cast."

That _had_ been clever—hopefully the doctor would exhibit as good sense when he explained why he was here. He'd had this conversation a few times before, though, and so far they'd all been fairly easy to persuade. He dreaded the day when one finally let his ambition outrun his brains.

"Well, I asked her to come in for a boneviewing at the end of the week. Well, when she did, the results were—remarkable. I didn't tell the Gunthers about it, because I didn't want word to get out before I told the Ministry." He leaned forward. "Major, the broken bone had knit back together _perfectly._ It usually takes two months or more before a fracture like that heals. Here, let me show you a side-by-side comparison."

He pulled an envelope out of his desk drawer, and extracted two photographs from it. "This is a boneviewing of a normal compound fracture, one week after the break. As you can see, there is significant visible damage. And this is a picture of Isara Gunther's arm, taken last week."

The doctor was right. There was no comparison between the two. It was as he'd thought.

"Who else knows about this, doctor?"

"No one. Why, is something wrong?"

 _More than you know,_ Lannes thought, but he didn't say that.

"First, you did the right thing, doctor. This is the sort of thing that the government was looking for when it sent out that request. Unfortunately, no one can ever hear about this."

Riebeek looked troubled. "Why? It's a medical miracle! If we could figure out how this happened…"

"The truth, doctor, is that we already know why this happened," Lannes said.

"What are you talking about?"

"You do remember what her mother did during the war?"

"Wait…you don't mean…"

"Isara Gunther is a Valkyria, doctor. The government wondered if she was for some time. When we got the letter from you, we needed confirmation." He nodded towards the photographs. "These were it. Only Valkyrur heal like that."

Riebeek was a smart man. "Why would that matter, though? It's well known that her mother was a Valkyria—but…was." He looked at Lannes. "Everyone who might be interested thinks that she she's not one anymore, don't they?"

"Correct. Since she didn't blow up the _Marmota,_ and hasn't used her powers otherwise, it's been easy to spread the rumor that she…burned out, I guess you might say, her Valkyria powers." That was one of the reasons that his anger at Welkin Gunther had abated. The other five were at home right now. "Which might or might not be true. But if word of this were to get out—well, Isara Gunther would have a target on her back. And whoever went after her would make _sure_ she was dead. At best."

Riebeek nodded, as an expression of slowly-dawning horror appeared on his face. "And at worst, they'd kidnap and torture her. Try to figure out how to craft the gift. Or…perhaps even use her to…produce…" he shuddered. "You're right. No one can know. Wait a moment." He went over to his filing cabinet and opened it to rummage around. "Where are those negatives…here they are!"

He sat down again, took out his lighter, flicked it on, and touched each negative, and then the photograph, of Isara's arm to the flame before letting them fall to the ashtray and burn themselves to nothing.

"Done, then," he said quietly. "And don't worry about me, Major. I'll keep quiet."

Lannes smiled then. "Thank you. Don't worry about whether to tell the Gunthers—I'm certain that they already know about their daughter. And, of course…"

"Don't tell them why you came by here."

"Right. You can tell them I stopped by—in fact, I'm going to see them right now. But, as you said—don't tell them why. Oh, and if Miss Gunther should experience a more severe accident, please contact me immediately." He took out his card, which the doctor took somewhat gingerly. "Valkyria powers can sometimes activate in those situations, with…unpredictable results."

"I understand." Riebeek stuck out his hand. "Thank you for your care."

"No, thank you," Lannes replied as he shook it. "Without men like you, my job would be far more difficult." _And much more painful. I've never liked ordering people killed because they can't keep a secret._

 **A/N: This is almost the end. There's just the epilogue left.**


	29. Grand Finale

_By 1955, the Empire's foundations were beginning to crack. The guerrilla war in Fhirald was tying down multiple divisions of troops, and the slow-but-steady leakage of dissidents, scientists, Darcsens, and others who ran afoul of officialdom to Gallia and the Federation was placing it at an increasing disadvantage in the arms race that had begun shortly after the Second Europan War. The best-case scenario put forth by the General Staff in its 1953 review was that by 1965, the Empire would have no chance of winning a major conflict if current trends continued…The Empire decided to try something new—instead of attacking the Federation first, it would attack Gallia…_

Excerpted with permission from _Third Time's the Charm: The Last Europan War_ , Frederic Potter; Koller Press; 1962

As Major Heinrich Lannes got out of the car, he looked to the north, and wondered what the morrow would bring.

The signs had been there since this time last year, for those who had the relevant information and the wisdom to put the pieces together. Imperial factories had ramped up ammunition production, military exercises had been going ahead under conditions that would normally have seen them canceled, and their propaganda outlets had been steadily escalating their rhetoric to a fever pitch. Recently, however, the indicators of an imminent attack had grown stronger. Imperial forces in Fhirald had not received any replacements for the past two months. Trains were moving west loaded with soldiers, tanks, and supplies, and returning east with little but raw materials. And, as in the last war, Imperial exports had plunged while their imports had increased.

Six hours ago, he'd received the final indication that the attack was coming within the next two days, and, after having notified Vredefort—presently the overseer of all Gallia's secrets—and Her Highness, who had responded by saying that she was about to call Parliament into an emergency session to announce full mobilization, had driven here.

He looked at the house for a moment and sighed. It reminded him of his place, really—set off a little, not really away from everybody, but far enough away that you could pretend you were out in the country. It was a perfect place for a man who loved nature and people to raise a family in peace.

And he had disturbed that peace tonight just by coming here, which he could tell from the fact that the door was opening without him even coming up to knock.

"Who's there—oh, it's you, Heinrich," Alicia Gunther said, with a note of wariness. "What brings you here?"

"I need to speak to you and Welkin," Lannes replied. "It's…somewhat urgent."

The former sergeant's face set into a determined expression. "Come in, then. I'll get Welkin. Welkin!" she called as she stepped back into the house. "Heinrich's here!"

As Lannes stepped onto the porch and through the doorway, he took a moment to look around the place. This was a home, not a just a house, and it was obvious that its residents cared for it and for each other.

Despite himself, he felt a small smile quirk when he saw the photograph of the Gunthers at the 3rd Militia's fifteenth reunion. Isara had been thirteen at the time, and their son, Faldio, had been ten. He'd managed to make it there with Julia and all four of their children—they'd decided to stop after Jeanne, who hadn't quite turned three at the time—and had had the opportunity to catch up with the others, most of whom had been married with children—and by now, most of those children were old enough to fight.

Isara Gunther included.

As he stepped into their kitchen, he saw that he'd arrived just late enough not to interrupt supper. Their children were cleaning up, and Gunther was standing to greet him. Something of the expression on his face must have shown what he was there for, because he turned to them and said "Isara, Faldio. Go upstairs, please. Now."

This caused the two to turn towards him, as he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. "Hello, Major Lannes," Isara said as she wiped her hands on a towel. "Don't worry, I heard the announcement on the radio. I'll be at my mobilization point on time," she added as she headed for the stairs.

"Good," Lannes replied, as he breathed a sigh of relief. At least they wouldn't be caught completely flatfooted, like during the last war.

Faldio also greeted him, and followed in his sister's footsteps, leaving Lannes and the Gunthers in the kitchen.

"Why don't you sit, Heinrich?" Gunther asked as his wife sat beside him.

"I believe I will," Lannes replied as he went to the table and pulled out a chair, "though I doubt you'll want to hear what I have to say."

"So it's really war, then?"

"Yes. The Imps are going to start by invading us this time, instead of the Federation. They think either the Feds won't come and help us, and they'll be able to take our ragnite, or the Feds will come and help us, in which case they'll be able to successfully attack them down south."

Welkin Gunther grimaced. "I suppose we should get ready for our call-up, then."

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to the two of you about," Lannes said quietly. "We might be able to avoid that."

The Gunthers weren't stupid.

"My wife," Welkin Gunther said steadily, "doesn't have access to her Valkyria powers anymore."

"I know. And reactivating them at her age could kill her. I'm not here about your wife." He paused, admittedly for dramatic effect. "I'm here about your daughter."

"What would you want with Isara!?" Alicia Gunther asked angrily. "She's already in the militia!"

"Don't pretend you don't know," Lannes snapped. "She's an unactivated Valkyria, and you know it."

The two of them looked at him, stunned. "How did you—"

"Doctor Riebeek. Don't blame him, he didn't know what he was doing."

"So is that what you came here for," Alicia Gunther spat, "To tell us that you were dragging our daughter off so you could shoot her and use her to win the war for you?"

"No, actually," Lannes half-snarled. "I came here to ask her if she would be willing to _volunteer_ for the job. Who the _Hel_ do you think I _am_? I'm a Gallian, not a monster."

"No way," Welkin Gunther said. "Victory gained by the Valkyria's powers—"

"Will still be _victory._ I'm not suggesting that we attempt to overrun the Empire using your daughter as our spearhead. What I'm suggesting is that we blow the Imp invasion force straight to Hel before they get the chance to kill tens of thousands of Gallia's sons and daughters _again._ "

"No," Welkin Gunther replied. "Even if it did work, the Empire would surely have some of their own. This would only escalate the conflict."

"As I recall," Lannes said flatly, "The Empire used a Valkyria first during the last war. And we know they're planning on deploying them somewhere along the line, although right now we think they're sending them into the Wildwood and at Ghirlandaio. Which is another reason why I came to ask for your daughter to _volunteer_ for the activation process."

"But she doesn't have a—wait—that's why you weren't there when Leon landed us back with the regiment. You were retrieving my lance and shield!" Alicia Gunther realized, and Lannes nodded.

Welkin Gunther shook his head. "No. We'll find another way. I'll not have…"

"Papa?"

Everyone turned towards the stairs, where Isara Gunther stood, dressed in her militia uniform, rifle slung behind her shoulder and binoculars around her neck.

"Isara, I thought I told you…"

"Papa, is what he's saying true? Am I a Valkyria?"

Lannes whirled around to gawp at the Gunthers. "You mean you didn't _tell her!?_ "

But even as he said it, he knew why they hadn't. They'd wanted their daughter to live a normal life, free of the shadow of the Valkyria. And they'd never thought that war might come back again to Gallia.

Now that he'd had a moment to think about, he wasn't sure if he wouldn't have made the same decision.

"Never mind," he said with a sigh.

Gunther sighed as well before answering his daughter. "Yes, you are. We found out when you eight, and you got a cut on your arm one evening. When I went to check up on you after you want to sleep, you were glowing blue, and that's when I knew." He looked at her, eyes pleading.

"Isara, I didn't want you to find out like this, or at all."

"You don't have to explain, Papa," she said as she came down the stairs. "You just wanted me to have a childhood." She looked at Lannes. "What do I have to do?"

"Isara—"

"No, Mama. You made your choice, this is mine."

"Miss Gunther," Lannes began, "before I go any further, there are some things you should know. There are other Gallian Valkyria. If you should choose not to do this, and go to the war as a scout, it will not cripple us."

"But it would make things more difficult, wouldn't it? And more people would die than if I fought as a Valkyria?"

"As to the first question, yes. The other, I don't know. Fewer Gallians, almost certainly. The other thing is—"

"I'll have to be injured to the point of death." Apparently he must have shown some surprise, because she smiled sadly. "I read that book that Ike Rogers wrote about the Valkyria and their history. I don't want to do this, but that probably means that I should do it."

Lannes nodded deeply. "Thank you, Miss Gunther. That, however, brings me to the next part. The Imps are coming here tonight."

" _What?_ "

"That's the second reason I came here. The Imps don't know that you," he nodded towards Alicia Gunther, "aren't a Valkyria anymore. And they also want you," he turned his head towards Welkin Gunther, "dead because they blame you for Maximilian's death."

"Wait, didn't—"

"Yes, but they wanted to do it themselves. One of us doing it made them look weak. Also, thanks to Irene Koller's book, they think you turned the tide of the war all by yourself." He shrugged. "So they're sending a kill team after you. They'll be here in an hour. Which is why we need to get out of here now."

"Why didn't you tell us this before asking Isara to let you shoot her so she can become a Valkyria?"

"Because I didn't want her to make the decision because she thought I'd saved her family's lives," Lannes snapped. "Besides, we've got plenty of time to get all of you somewhere safe."

Then Lannes' radio crackled.

"Sir," Friedrich Karsten, now possessing a last name and serving as part of Lannes' security element, said into his ear, "we have a problem."

"What is it?" Lannes asked.

"Imp kill team is five minutes from your position," he said flatly. "Kat picked up a transmission saying they just got into Bruhl."

"Are the troops in position?"

"Not quite. It'll be a tight race, and they might make it there before we do."

Well, that wasn't good.

All three of the Gunthers present were looking at him worriedly. "Whoever's leading the kill team seems to have jumped the gun. They're already just about here."

"So what do we do now?"

"I'm going to out to my car and get my MAG. You three get upstairs and stay down. Last thing we want is for any of you to actually get killed."

As Lannes went for the door, he heard the trio behind him immediately go into a furious but quiet argument, and suspected that he knew what it was. Isara Gunther intended to stay with him and watch his back, while her parents were almost certainly going to try and get her to come upstairs with them and her brother.

He really hoped they won the argument. If they could induce her Valkyria powers in a controlled environment, it would be much safer both for her and for everyone around her. If she went into a fugue state like her mother had at the Naggiar—well, the Imp invasion would be the least of Lannes' problems.

As he opened the passenger side door, he listened carefully for the sound of an approaching vehicle. The kill team supposedly had only five members, but that would still mean he would be badly outnumbered until Karsten and the others got here, even if Isara Gunther joined him. In fact, he hoped she wouldn't—he'd never fought with her, and she was grass-green, which combined meant that she might be a liability rather than an asset.

And while they had the lance and shield close at hand, in case of an accident along the way, no one was really sure what would happen if her Valkyria powers activated outside of a controlled environment. Would the fact that she knew allow her to control herself, or would she end up like her mother, destroying everything in her path?

No one knew the answers to those questions, because no one had been willing to risk either a potential Valkyria's life or their own. He didn't want to find out tonight.

As he racked the slide back on the MAG, he heard the screeching noise of a vehicle taking a corner far too quickly, and slammed the door shut and sprinted for the house, thankful that he'd had to maintain fitness standards.

He shut the door and killed the lights the moment he stepped through, and cursed when he saw Isara Gunther standing in the hallway, rifle in hand. _At least it's one of the newer ones,_ he thought. The new rifles packed more of a punch, were more accurate, and held more rounds than what had been available during the last war.

Which was also true of his MAG, fortunately, but the basic roles were still the same.

"Where're your parents?" he growled.

"Upstairs," she said quietly. "They're breaking out their rifles right now. Don't worry, they won't do anything…foolish. And they won't let Faldio do anything stupid either."

In Lannes' opinion, that the older Gunthers and Isara were joining in at all was somewhat foolish, and the capacity of thirteen year old boys to do foolhardy things was limitless, but he refrained from saying so. Instead, he said, "Do exactly as I tell you, and you don't move forward for anything. If you die, I've failed. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir!" she said crisply, but he could hear the fear behind it. He didn't blame her—there was a lot more at stake for her tonight than there had been for him the first time he'd faced the fire.

"Good. I'm going to be covering the door from here," he said, pointing to their parlor. "I want you covering the window that I won't be able to watch. If you see an Imp about to fire, kill him. Got it?"

"Yes sir," she said, and started moving into position as he did—carefully, since the house was dark, but when he heard the sound of a car screeching to a halt he dove for the floor and rolled to where he could see the doorway—which opened to the other side, so he wouldn't have a blocked shot. Hopefully—

The Imps didn't open fire the moment they stepped out of the car, which he'd expected but hadn't quite been counting on. Now, if they kept following procedure, one would stay in the driver's seat, one would get out of the car and stay by it to cover them, and three would head for the door, and probably go for a quick-and-dirty entry instead of a subtle one.

The door lock flew into the wall a half second before the door slammed back on its hinges and the Imp who'd blasted it out stepped into the house, scanning to his right as he did so.

Unfortunately, he'd been expecting to deal with a scared, startled, and unarmed family, not people who were prepared for his arrival, and he wasn't quite fast enough.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

He fell back against the door bonelessly. Lannes never had figured out why the Imps refused to use ragnite stabilizers.

Now where—

CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!

The sound of Isara Gunther's bullets sailing over his head joined that of shattering glass, and he glanced over in time to see the Imp who'd been about to blast him through the window crumple out of sight. He then whipped his head back around just in time to see the third man leap over the porch railing and head back for the car, just as rifle shots rang out from the roof.

Valkyrur _damn_ it.

The Imps were firing back now, mostly at the second story, and if Isara Gunther was anything like her parents—

"Stay _back,_ girl!" Lannes ordered, but her parents had raised her all too well, she was already sprinting down the hallway, and she was able to dodge the arm he swung out to try and grab her as he attempted to stand up.

He was able to come up just behind her, though, and one of the good things about the newer MAGs was that they fired in two bursts, not one, so at least he should able to provide her with covering fire.

She slid to the side and crashed into the porch railing as he came through the doorway, but his main focus was on the Imps as he brought his MAG to firing position. The man who'd been on the porch was still struggling to his feet, the man who'd been on watch had ducked behind the passenger side door, and where was whoever'd been driving?

The man behind the passenger side door began to stand.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

His target crumpled, and he turned to see the two Imps on the other side coming to their feet simultaneously. The one who'd been on the porch held a ZMMR. The woman who'd been driving held an incendiary grenade, and was obviously about to throw it into the upstairs window that the rifle fire had come from.

He tried to jump forward, to get between the first Imp and Isara Gunther, but he was slow, so slow…

CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

The driver fell, the grenade dropping at her feet, at the same time that Isara Gunther crumpled over her rifle and he stepped into the Imps' line of fire just long enough to catch the tail end of the burst, which hurt like anything, but he was still up for—

The grenade went up with a _whoosh!_

He was only close enough to catch the heat front, which hurt but wasn't crippling. The Imp, on the other hand, had caught enough to where he was actually on fire, along with the car.

Which probably had fuel in it.

He turned and painfully stumbled to the girl lying on the porch. She was still breathing, as he'd expected, but it was pretty obvious that she was flagging.

"My team's on their way," he said, as he knelt down beside her. "They've got the lance and shield with them, just in case something like this happened."

She looked up and smiled wanly. "Good. Is my family—?"

"I'm sure they're all right," Lannes said hurriedly, hoping that was true. "Why'd you do it?"

Her breathing was starting to become labored. "Thought of it the moment you said someone was coming…didn't want you or someone else…to pull the trigger on me…especially if it didn't work…you shouldn't have to…deal with that…"

Valkyrur _damn_ it. The girl made her namesake look selfish.

He heard Welkin Gunther yell "Isara!" at the same time as he heard the sounds of his teams vehicles braking hard to come to a full stop from near full throttle, and he turned and yelled, "Friedrich! Get the back ready _now!_ And someone get that fire out!"

He heard someone yell for the extinguisher as he turned back to the girl. "Just hold on another minute. They have to get things ready." _Please hold on. For all our sakes. We need people like you._

* * *

Major Heinrich Lannes stood in the main observation bunker for the Ghirlandaio Line. Excavated on the rim of the crater created by the blast that had destroyed the original citadel, it had been built from one side of the valley to the other, with the hills incorporated into the design. There was also only one route across the crater, which had had its sides steepened over the years to make using it as a way across as difficult as possible—a causeway that held two rail lines and a highway, was maybe a hundred yards wide, and was within range of nearly every heavy gun on the line.

What was coming towards them, however, was enough to make him think that wouldn't be enough.

There were _six_ Batomys-class siege engines crawling towards them, and they'd improved the original design significantly—for one thing, there weren't any convenient radiators to drop a grenade down.

Then there was what was coming up behind them—four battalions of assault troops, supported by Dromedarius super-heavy tanks, and an entire Imp division of regular infantry and armor. And behind all of that, there stood a female figure, wreathed in blue flame.

He wasn't surprised that the Imps hadn't bothered to start an artillery bombardment.

And then there was what was up in the sky—a dozen airships, all more powerful than the one Gassenarl had used during the civil war. The Stork fighters that Schmidt and Czherny had designed and built were designed almost exclusively to bring them down, but there weren't that many of them—there just weren't enough qualified pilots in the country. The anti-airship guns would do their best, but the undersides of the things were armored well enough to repel shrapnel and shells having to overcome the pull of gravity.

All of this, Lannes mused, to take on an infantry brigade, albeit a very well-protected one.

And while this force was the largest one, the one attacking the Kloden Gash, as the _Marmota's_ trail had become called, was nearly as strong, and other, smaller forces were attacking all along the border.

The Imp strategy wasn't subtle, but it did have a certain crude elegance to it—use your sheer numbers to force the enemy to either give up large swathes of his land, or to let you break through his most vital points, which would still fall anyway once they were eventually outflanked. While the Federation would respond, as long as the Imps didn't overstretch themselves like Maximilian had, they would be able to secure and hold more than enough ragnite to provide for everything their war machine could possibly want.

Well, if everything went according to plan.

Which it wouldn't.

Lannes' work had always been twofold—to convince the Feds and the Imps that there were enough Gallian Valkyrur to make attacking dangerous, but to not reveal their true number. As near as anyone in the Intelligence Service could tell, the Imps thought there were two active Valkyria, one of which they thought they had disposed of, and two potentials.

They had been correct about how many active Valkyria there were, though they did not know that their kill team had failed—or that their target hadn't been one of the two actives.

However, there were nearly a dozen potentials in Gallia, not two, and while not all had volunteered—and Lannes, in charge of the project, had respected their wishes—most had.

Of those who had volunteered, all had survived the procedure to activate their powers—multiple gunshot wounds, all in places that would not kill instantly, but would kill if left untreated—and none of them had slipped into the fugue state that had overtaken Alicia Gunther when her powers had been activated.

They hadn't been able to acquire enough of the old lances and shields to arm all of the newly-activated Valkyrur with them, unfortunately—they'd had to pass them around to each woman, one after another, as they recovered. Fortunately, it turned out that natural Valkyrur could use weapons made for artificial ones. Said weapons were heavier and bulkier than the original ones, but they were good enough.

He hoped they were, anyway. Both of his sons were out there—Finn was in the Wildwood, and Louis was on the edge of the Barious Desert—and if his daughters had been of age he had little doubt that they would have been on the front line as well. And there were tens of thousands more like them, sitting in their trenches and clutching their guns as they waited for the storm to break over them and prayed that they could both survive it and beat it back.

He took out his old binoculars and looked out at the causeway. Where—there!

A figure who he assumed was Isara Gunther walked into view, blue flames serving as a beacon for everyone who could see her.

The Imperial forces stopped. They knew what was in front of them.

Then she did something he hadn't expected.

"SOLDIERS OF THE EMPIRE!" she called, and Lannes was extremely glad that he was nowhere near her—if he could hear her from back here, anyone close to her would be half-deaf by the time she was done. "TURN BACK! PLEASE! I DON'T WANT TO KILL YOU!"

He could hear her anguish, but knew it would do no good. Not today.

One of the lead siege engines fired.

She sidestepped it gracefully.

"VERY WELL," she said coldly. "YOU HAD YOUR SECOND CHANCE."

And with that, she fired, and blue light stabbed out from her lance and into the _Batomys_ that had fired at her, and he hissed when he realized where she was aiming just in time for the thing to explode so violently that the top armor _flew up into the air intact_ while the war machine next to it actually _rocked_ from the blast wave.

The Imps knew how to deal with that problem—throw enough firepower at any one target, and it would eventually succumb. The enemy Valkyria began to run forward, fast as lightning, as the other war machines turned towards the new target.

Unfortunately for them, as the airships began to move to attack, two more beams of light stabbed out from the ground, and they began to plummet to the ground as Gallia's Valkyrur began to move forward, bringing down the mightiest machines the Empire could devise as the Gallian artillery began to land among the infantry. He could hear the other officers starting to overcome their initial shock and realize what was happening. He wasn't worried about them doing something stupid like ordering an attack—the Princess's orders had been _extremely_ clear on that point. That, and no one wanted to face a Valkyria on the open field.

He held his breath as the Imperial got close enough to actually target Gunther. It would be tolerable if the two settled into a stalemate. But if Gunther lost…

He needn't have worried. She sidestepped the Imp's initial attack neatly, and she and the other two Gallian Valkyrur targeted her.

The poor woman lasted less than two seconds before her shield…overloaded?

Whatever it was, she was nearly vaporized in the resultant explosion, and as the dust settled he could see the Imps beginning to run as Gallia's Valkyrur methodically took the survivors apart.

Now, he might have been worried that they might try and order the Valkyrur around during the pursuit, because as far as he was concerned they were like snipers—give them general orders, and then turn them loose—while the regulars wanted direct control over such powerful soldiers.

That didn't matter, though, because the regulars couldn't give them orders, because the chain of command ran from the Valkyria through him, and then to the Princess.

Speaking of which…

"Have you sent the report yet?" he asked Johanna Ivor softly.

"Yes sir," she replied. "The Princess should be receiving it now," she added as the last _Batomys_ exploded, the remaining airships desperately tried to claw their way up and back towards the Imperial border, and the Valkyrur started in on the super-heavies.

He wondered what she would say when she spoke this evening. But right now, the Ghirlandaio Line was safe. And, as reports began to come in from the other fronts, it became clear that similar scenes had played out at Kloden, and everywhere else where Gallian Valkyrur had been deployed. Imperial forces were in full retreat all along the Gallian border, and the Federation was already moving forward—apparently they'd been more fully mobilized than anyone had thought.

Even as the war raged to the south, as dusk fell on the opening battleground of the final Europan war, the only sounds were those of the search parties looking for survivors of the Imperial assault force.

Gallia was safe.

Major Heinrich Lannes' work was done.

* * *

 _People of Gallia. This morning, we were attacked by the forces of the Eastern Europan Empire, who sought to use us and our land as pawns in their bid to control all of Europa._ _This attack has already failed, and there is not a single Imperial soldier who still fights on Gallian soil._

 _I know that many of you have already heard the rumors that Valkyrur fought for us on the battlefield._

 _These are true._

 _But these were not legends of the past. These were brave women who willingly risked death in order to become what Gallia needed to survive. Your sisters. Your wives. Your daughters. Your sweethearts. Honor them as best you can._

 _I understand that this revelation will cause some to ask if Gallia will seek to use this power to expand its borders. But none of these women desire to do so, and if I asked them they would refuse me. And I would not ask them, because I do not want to._

 _Gallia will not bring war to anyone. But we will not permit you to bring war to Gallia._

 _We will_ _have peace, and none shall take it from us._

Speech given by Princess Cordelia gi Randgriz, last monarch of the Grand Duchy of Gallia, April 19, 1955

 **A/N: Well, that's the end of this story. My thanks to those of you who've been reading along since the beginning, especially to those who've left reviews, and to anyone else who happens to do so in the future. I hope you've enjoyed reading this, and if you have any questions, feel free to PM me or leave a review. See y'all next time.**


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